<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Dangerous Contract by fredbassett</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355786">A Dangerous Contract</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett'>fredbassett</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Dangerous Liaison (The Musketeers - 2014) [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:21:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Athos/Treville</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Dangerous Liaison (The Musketeers - 2014) [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/83437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthorchickv2/gifts">Luthorchickv2</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After a break of several years, The Musketeers has bitten my brain in a big way, thanks to a prompt 18 months ago from the lovely luthorchickv2.  It's so good to be writing in this fandom again!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Athos stretched his legs out in front of the fire, watching the steam rise from his wet boots as he took a mouthful of warm mulled wine, heavily laced with cheap brandy. </p><p>The foul weather had kept most of The Wren’s customers at home. The ones that had ventured out were rowdy, and a couple of the Cardinal’s red-caped bully boys were engaged in a loud altercation with a three of Black Jacques’ more disreputable drinkers. If the idiots didn’t back off soon, Richelieu would find himself short of another couple of men on active duty. </p><p>Athos briefly toyed with the idea of breaking up the rapidly brewing fight, but decided it wasn’t his problem. Besides, he had wet feet. Getting involved in a fight when he had wet feet was never a good idea. Wet feet put him in a bad mood and tangling with the Red Guard when he was in a bad mood was unwise, especially when Treville had ordered him to stay out of trouble for at least a month after his last minor altercation with the Cardinal’s men had left four of them unfit for duty for quite some while.</p><p>He heard the scrape of wood on wood as a chair was dragged over to the fire. Without looking up, Athos drawled, “I’m not looking for company.”</p><p>“And here was I thinking you’d be glad to see an old friend, musketeer.”</p><p>Athos looked up, not bothering to keep the surprise off his face. </p><p>Charles Gallagher stared down at him, a half-smile quirking his lips as he held out a hot stoneware flagon of mulled wine and refilled the pewter goblet in Athos’ hand. The Irish mercenary set the flagon down by the hearth, shrugged off a damp, travel-stained green cloak and draped it over the back of the chair.</p><p>“Last I heard, you’d taken a contract in Spain,” Athos remarked.</p><p>“They couldn’t afford me any longer.”</p><p>“Long enough, so I heard.” Aramis’ contacts in the Spanish Lowlands had reported that several of King Philips’s opponents had met with a series of unexpected and unfortunate accidents. Athos drained the goblet and held it out for a refill. “What brings you to Paris?”</p><p>“An old friend needs a favour.”</p><p>Athos raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“There’s a contract out on your captain’s life,” Gallagher said quietly.</p><p>Athos forced himself to remain motionless, even though his hand itched to reach for his dagger.</p><p>“Easy, musketeer. I was offered it and refused. If I’d accepted, you’d be organising a funeral, not warming your feet.”</p><p>“Treville is not an easy man to kill.”</p><p>“He walks the streets of Paris. Any man who does that is an easy man to kill. If you want him alive, get him away from here and do it soon.”<br/>
“Why are you telling me?”</p><p>“I pay my debts.” Gallagher leaned forward and threw another log on the fire. “Get him out of Paris,” he said, keeping his voice low, but there was no mistaking the urgency. “And stay away until I tell you it’s safe to return.”</p><p>Athos drained the wine and accepted another refill. </p><p>Getting Treville away from Paris would be like extracting a winkle from its shell.</p><p>**** </p><p>“I will not leave Paris!”</p><p>“The King has given his leave,” Athos said, making sure he was out of range of Treville’s fist when he delivered that piece of information. “You need have no worry on that score.”</p><p>Treville swung around, fury in his face. “You dare to have troubled the King with this? You have overstepped your authority.”</p><p>“I did what I knew you would not countenance. As your second in command, it is my duty to keep you safe when you will not do so of your own accord.”</p><p>“You went behind my back!”</p><p>“You are the King’s man, and your king prefers you to remain alive. You are more use to him that way. Aramis and Porthos will investigate the threat to your life. D’Artagnan will keep the King safe.”</p><p>“And you?”</p><p>“I will put myself between you and any assassin.”</p><p>He watched as Treville’s anger drained from him as swiftly as it had arisen. His captain leaned back against the sturdy wooden desk and ran a hand through his short hair. “Do you trust the Irishman?”</p><p>Athos nodded. “With my life, strange as that may seem.”</p><p>“And he believes the threat is credible?”</p><p>“We would not be having this conversation were that not to be the case. He has good sources of information, and the contract is large enough to have caused a stir. Porthos is making enquiries in the Court of Miracles. Gallagher will help. I don’t imagine the identity of the principal will elude them for long.”</p><p>“But you still believe I should run and hide?”</p><p>Athos sighed heavily. “Yes, I do. You are too easy a target in Paris.” It was time to play his trump card. “And by remaining here you are putting the King’s life at risk. A stray musket ball could easily endanger His Majesty. He intends to hunt at Fontainebleau in two days’ time and that would present any would-be killer with too good an opportunity to miss. Would you disobey a direct order from your King?”</p><p>“I have not received any such order.”</p><p>Athos pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, held together with a familiar red seal. “You have now.”</p><p>With a face as dark as a thunder cloud, Treville broke the seal, read the brief missive within, then threw the note on the fire.</p><p>Knowing he had won the exchange, Athos poured a goblet of brandy and held it out to his captain. “Allow me the luxury of worrying about you for once,” he said softly. “I have no wish to stand to attention while the Cardinal officiates at your funeral.”</p><p>“He’s been hoping to do that for years,” Treville snapped. He took the goblet and drank half the spirit. “Did Richelieu seem surprised by the news?”</p><p>“Yes. Why? Do you think he might be behind this?”</p><p>“Strangely, no. He and I have come to an understanding over the years and I think it is unlikely that he would take this kind of action. He has no reason to want me dead now.”</p><p>“Porthos, Aramis and Gallagher will find out who is responsible.” Athos drank what was left in the goblet and started to unlace his jerkin. “Get some sleep. We leave at midnight.”</p><p>*****</p><p>The sacking on the horses’ hooves muffled the noise of their passing as they left the training yard. Porthos and Aramis had spent the past few hours being sure that the garrison was not under surveillance and they had finally pronounced it safe to move.</p><p>Athos tipped his hat to his comrades as they passed, receiving a broad grin from Porthos and a nod from Aramis. Gallagher had promised to contact them if he was able to obtain any information on who wanted Treville dead and no one other than those three men knew whence they were bound.</p><p>Heavy rain meant the streets of Paris were quiet. The whores and the drunkards had stayed inside and even the vagabonds thought better of venturing out when pickings would be too slim to make a drenching worthwhile. Both Athos and Treville were wrapped in heavy cloaks, with hats shading their faces, but even so, it was a cold, wet ride. Once clear of the noisome streets of the capital city, they freed the horses’ hooves and once back in the saddle urged the animals to pick up the pace. When Athos was finally satisfied that they were not being followed, he reined his horse back to a walk. </p><p>“Do you have a destination in mind?” Treville asked.</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>Treville sighed. “And if you tell me, you’d presumably have to kill me.”</p><p>“I like to surprise you.”</p><p>“Don’t I get a say in the matter?”</p><p>“The guessing game will while away the hours,” Athos said, and steadfastly refused to be drawn further on the matter as they made their way on rutted cart roads to the north-north-east of Paris. </p><p>They halted briefly to water the horses at a small river and eat some of the bread, meat and cheese that Serge had packed for them. They were carrying food for three days, not that Athos was intending to spend three days in the saddle, but he liked to be prepared. When they neared villages, he deliberately led them away from the road and took to the fields or the woods. The rain eased off not long after dawn and by midday, their clothes were finally dry. They rode in companionable silence for the most part, with Treville steadfastly not speculating on their destination.</p><p>They saw few travellers. Those they did pass eyed two well-armed men on strong horses warily and maintained their distance and a respectful manner. Athos made it his business to avoid any inns on their route. Information was readily bought and sold in such places and he had no wish to make it simple for any pursuers. They would not be easy to track, but he had no mind to take chances with his captain’s life.</p><p>Mid-afternoon, they stopped for another break in the shade of a spreading oak tree and ate a little more of their provisions while their horses cropped the grass.</p><p>Treville sprawled out with his back against the tree and drank from a flagon of watered wine. After once again satisfying himself that they were not being pursued, Athos stretched out on the ground and willed himself to relax.</p><p>“Take off your jacket and let me work on your shoulders,” Treville told him. “You’re too tense.”</p><p>Athos sat up and unbuttoned his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders as he mentally acknowledged the truth of Treville’s words. He cushioned his head on his arms as Treville proceeded to work the knots out of his muscles with strong, callused swordsman’s fingers. Athos could have happily lain on the warm ground for the rest of the afternoon, but he wanted to reach their destination that day rather than spend another night on the road.</p><p>Treville’s hands tugged Athos’ shirt out of his trousers and slipped his warm fingers under the loose material to run them lightly up Athos’ back, gently caressing the scars left by the whipping he had once administered under the mistaken belief that Athos had been in dereliction of his duty to the king.</p><p>“You know perfectly well I do not blame you for those scars,” Athos mumbled into the crook of his arm.</p><p>In a rare moment of tenderness, Treville lifted the shirt and laid a gentle kiss to the small of Athos’ sun-warmed back. “Allow me the occasional luxury of showing that I care about you.”</p><p>Athos turned over and twined his arms around Treville’s neck, pulling his lover down on top of him. “And I intend to allow you that luxury while we are in hiding, but a hard cock makes for an uncomfortable riding companion…”</p><p>Treville laughed and extricated himself from Athos’ arms. “Then the sooner this journey is over, the better. Do you still refuse to let me know our destination?”</p><p>“That’s for me to know and you to guess.”</p><p>The knowing look that greeted his words made Athos think that Treville already had his suspicions about whence they were bound but was content to humour his reticence on the subject.</p><p>They rode on with only two short stops to rest their horses. The shadows of evening were drawing in but Athos knew this countryside as well as he now knew the rat-infested streets of Paris and even at night he would not lead them astray. By the time it was full dark, the clouds had rolled back, leaving a clear sky set with a bright moon only two days off full. The grey light was enough for the horses to pick their way along a narrow, overgrown track in single file.</p><p>Athos heard Treville draw breath but forestalled him with a raised hand. “Yes, we are nearly there. You will not have to spend the night on a bed of leaves, I promise you.”</p><p>Treville’s answering snort made it clear what he thought of Athos’ promises. A journey to La Rochelle in the dead of winter when Athos’ navigational skills had temporarily – and inconveniently – deserted him clearly still rankled.</p><p>Just as the undergrowth was in danger of pressing too close around them, they broke out onto a wide swathe of grass. </p><p>Treville drew alongside him and took in the sight of a once proud house, now ravaged by fire. “Pinon, I presume?” he said quietly.</p><p>“When did you guess?”</p><p>“Late afternoon but I didn’t want to spoil your game.”</p><p>“There are habitable parts in the servants’ quarters,” Athos said. “And a stable for the horses.”</p><p>He led Treville around the back of the house, clamping down hard on his emotions. He had spent so many years of his life on this estate. These smoke-blackened stones each held memories of the life he had ridden away from. A life that would be forever tainted by the lies and ‘death’ of the woman he’d loved.</p><p>The stable block had been untouched by the flames. The roof would no doubt need attention, but it would serve for the night. He drew water from the well in the courtyard, glad that the thick rope remained sound. The water was cold and untainted. He filled a trough for the horses and left them in the yard. A musketeer’s horse was trained not to stray far from its master.</p><p>Once they were settled, Athos led the way to a sturdy door leading to what had once been the servants’ quarters. He drew a jangling keyring from his pack, selected a large brass key and turned the lock. The door swung open smoothly. He stepped inside, still able to walk the corridors and rooms of his family home in the dark, as he had done as a boy, raiding the larders at night in search of food. Memories of braving the cook’s wrath the following morning still brought a rueful smile to his face. She would threaten to tan his hide mercilessly, despite his noble birth, but then would slip him a dainty morsel to stave off hunger until the next meal. He had often felt he loved her more than his austere father and a mother so seemed more interested in her needlepoint than in her young son.</p><p>The smell of charred timbers had diminished and for a brief moment in the concealing darkness Athos could allow himself to believe that the house still stood intact. </p><p>The room he led Treville into contained a large wooden chest, a chair and a bed. It was as austere as a monk’s cell, but it was better than a night on damp ground. The mattress felt dry, which was better than he’d expected. The chest and its contents had not been tampered with. He lit two candles and quickly threw linen sheets and blankets onto the bed. Last, and most importantly, he produced two wine goblets and a bottle. Not all of the house’s treasures had been destroyed. The cellars remained intact. He’d simply stashed enough here for his occasional visits.</p><p>“So this explains your mysterious absences,” Treville remarked, after savouring the rich wine.</p><p>“I hate to disabuse you of the notion that I was blind drunk in a gutter somewhere, but yes, I have made three brief visits here. Strange as it may seem, the villagers still hold me in some affection, and they have taken on the stewardship for me.”</p><p>Treville stepped up close and ran gentle fingers through his hair. Athos leaned into the touch, not taking his eyes from his lover’s lined face as Treville murmured, “You are nowhere near as easy to dislike as you might think.”</p><p>Athos’ scarred lip twisted into a rueful smile. “That’s not what you tell me when you haul me in for brawling.”</p><p>“I haul you in for duelling. Brawling is legal. Duelling is not.” Treville drew him into a light kiss. “But you do talk too much.”</p><p>One of Athos’ rare laughs broke free. “That is not an accusation that is normally thrown at me. Would like you to eat then fuck? Or fuck then eat?”</p><p>The second kiss was harder and Athos willingly ceded dominance in the embrace. The return to his former home had set his nerves on edge and he wanted to lose the memories in the heat of a very different passion, one that had grown out of mutual respect and a wealth of shared experience, tempered by the harsh reality of combat and military life rather than born of youthful idealism and the rose-gold flush of first love.</p><p>They drew apart long enough to finish the bottle of wine and strip,  sprawling out on the bed  and drawing the coverings around them to keep out the night’s chill, out of long habit ensuring that their weapons remained in easy reach of the bed.</p><p>Athos lay on his back and let Treville set the pace. He had succeeded in his aim of prising his stubborn lover away from the dangers of Paris. He was certain they had not been followed so for once, he was able to let his guard down, knowing that they could not be overheard or seen by others. A rare luxury.</p><p>Treville lay on his side, propped up on one elbow while one hard hand roamed freely over Athos’ body, first caressing his nipples to pebbled hardness, then gliding lower to stroke his already hardening cock. Their liaisons were all too often rushed and lacking in finesse. This was different. It was leisurely, almost playful, but with an intensity that drove out conscious thought, replacing it with a world of sensation and bone-deep longing.</p><p>The lips that pressed to his held no softness. In no world could they be mistaken for those of a woman. Treville’s tongue slipped between Athos’ lips, tasting pleasantly of the rich red wine they had drunk so unceremoniously. Treville drew back to run his tongue around Athos’ open mouth, lightly caressing the duelling scar that had led to his inattentive fencing master being horsewhipped from the estate by Athos’ enraged father. At first, Athos had shied away from such contact; now he had put such vanity aside. They both had bodies as scarred as street fighting mongrels, the legacy of knife, sword, bullet, whip and torture, and had nothing to hide from each other. </p><p>As Treville’s fingers encircled his cock and set up a slow rhythm, Athos exhaled a sigh of pure pleasure, one that he did not have to stifle for fear of discovery. </p><p>Treville gently kissed the tip of his nose. “I like it when you sigh like that.”</p><p>“Do you? Then I shall be sure to do it more often.”</p><p>Treville bent his head to Athos’ chest and a warm tongue lightly grazed each sensitive nub.</p><p>Athos arched his chest into the touch.</p><p>The tongue swirled around, the touch staying tantalisingly feather light then Treville sucked first one then the other, setting Athos’ nerves alight with pleasure. Without warning, a sharp jolt of white fire shot down through Athos’ hard cock as Treville nipped one lightly, while equally lightly pinching the other. Athos groaned and thrust up into his lover’s now tight hand. Treville knew that there were times he liked treading the fine line between pleasure and pain and his lover was well practised in exploiting that knowledge.</p><p>They had not had an opportunity to lie together for several weeks, and Athos’ tension had been high since his meeting with Gallagher. </p><p>“Don’t hold back,” Treville murmured. “It seems we will have time to ourselves for once.” He captured Athos’ lips again and kissed him with a growing intensity that stole his breath and fogged his mind as he surrendered to the tender onslaught of hands and mouth on his body. He gasped and wrapped his arms around Treville’s well-muscled back and gave himself up to a hot rush of pleasure that left him sweat damp in spite of the cold air with small aftershocks of climax chasing through his body as Treville held him close and nuzzled the sensitive hollow of his shoulder.</p><p>Treville rolled on his back, tugging Athos over to lie on top of him in a loose-limbed sprawl. </p><p>“More wine, then I return the favour,” Athos promised.</p><p>He opened another bottle but filled only one goblet, enjoying the casual intimacy that came from drinking from the same vessel.</p><p>“This came from an admirable cellar,” Treville commented. </p><p>Athos swiped a stray drop from the corner of his captain’s mouth with the tip of his tongue. “It was one of my father’s few indulgences. He ran his hands over Treville’s chest, caressing the surprisingly soft, greying hair, then moving down over the flat plane of a stomach toned by long years on the practice ground. Treville was a formidable swordsman with an impressive array of dirty tricks that had never graced the more fashionable salons of Paris.</p><p>Pressing a hand on one hipbone, Athos bent his head to Treville’s cock, working it with his hand while his tongue lapped the beads of moisture forming at the tip. Treville’s sigh of pleasure was all the encouragement he needed. Alternating the movement of his hand and mouth, he quickly led his lover down the path of pleasure, not drawing away as the warm salty fluid spilled into his mouth. When he finally sat up and relieved Treville of the wine, he was pleased to see that his lover’s often stern face had softened, leaving him looking younger and less burdened in the flickering light of the tallow candle. </p><p>He offered up a silent vow to a god he didn’t even believe in that he would willingly give his own life to keep his captain safe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Treville came slowly awake, Athos’ head pillowed on his shoulder. He lay there, revelling in the knowledge that for once they need have no worry about the discovery of their sleeping arrangements. A whole night together was a pleasure even on a par with their occasional lovemaking.</p><p>Sunlight seeped into the cobwebbed room but for once, he had little idea of the time without the bells of Paris’ churches clanging out the passing of the hours. Athos snuggled into his side, one arm draped over Treville’s stomach. He tried hard to keep his thoughts light, not dwelling on who wanted him dead or why. That was now in the hands of his musketeers and the Irish mercenary, a man that Athos appeared to trust, and he knew that his occasionally wayward lieutenant did not give his trust easily. Milady had put an end to that.</p><p>Eventually, he pressed a kiss to Athos’ forehead and murmured, “Pleasant as this is, I need a piss.”</p><p>Athos’ laugh came easily for once. “Such delicacy.”</p><p>Treville heaved his arm off. “You’ve been weighing my bladder down long enough. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long. And not needing to make polite excuses is one advantage of bedding a soldier.”</p><p>Athos looked up at him, hair tousled on the sheet, his long lashes the envy of the Queen’s court. “When did you last bed a woman? I’ve never known you lie with a whore, nor have I known you court a lady.”</p><p>It was rare for his lover to ask a personal question, and Treville felt it deserved an honest answer. “Not since the death of my wife twenty-one years ago.”</p><p>Athos’ expression became guarded. “I’m sorry. That was not a question I should have asked.”</p><p>Treville leaned down and kissed the scarred lip. “There is no question you cannot ask me. I might choose not to answer, but there is no harm in the asking.” He pulled on his undergarments and breeches and walked barefoot and bare-chested into the yard. His horse whickered a greeting, while Athos’ supercilious mount swatted flies with its long tail and ignored him. After relieving himself, Treville drew up a bucket of water from the well and plunged his head into it to drive away the last vestiges of sleep. He rubbed the sweat of the previous day’s ride from his body then drew a second bucket. </p><p>Athos joined him in the yard, not having bothered to pull on any clothes, walking naked to the well, utterly unselfconscious. Treville admired the wide shoulders, narrow waist and strong thighs of a master swordsman. This was a sight far more to his taste than the effete statues so beloved of the nobility. He held up the bucket of water and raised his eyebrows in enquiry.</p><p>Athos nodded, not flinching from the cold water that poured down over his head and shoulders, plastering down his dark hair. His young lover shook himself like a dog, sending water droplets flying everywhere. “We can finish the bread and cheese we brought, then I can acquire some better food from the village.”</p><p>“Will your presence here cause tongues to wag?”</p><p>“No. The villagers are loyal. I have asked no rent from them since I left. That has allowed them to prosper when those elsewhere have suffered hardship. They pay their taxes to the King but that is all. In return, we can count on their silence in the unlikely event of questions being asked. There are two or three former soldiers among them who would fight with us should the need arise, but I think our best defence lies in secrecy. There are few who can easily connect Athos of the Musketeers with the Comte de la Fère.”</p><p>With the lithe grace of a hunting cat, Athos strolled back to the room where they had spent the night. He returned, his sweat-stained shirt hanging loose over his leather trousers. They had travelled light and would have to rely on washing their own clothes unless the ruined mansion held other home comforts.</p><p>As if divining his thoughts, Athos said, “Unless the moths have been at work, I salvaged a clothes chest that was my father’s. He was a bigger man than either of us, but his shirts will serve well enough.”</p><p>They sat on a stone bench in the shade and finished the last of their food, throwing crumbs for a pair of white doves that flew down from their roost in the stable roof. The birdsong in the air stood in welcome contrast to the constant bustle and noise of the garrison, or the often-forced gaiety of the king’s court.</p><p>While Athos rode to the village, Treville busied himself with an old broom he found in an outhouse, using it to brush down the cobwebs from their sleeping quarters and thoroughly sweep the dust from the floor. With the shutters thrown open, the musty smell would soon diminish. There was no damp in the plaster and the ceiling was sound. Then he set to work on the kitchen, which proved to be a harder labour, but soon, it too was clean enough to sit and eat in. The iron pots would need a scrub but were still serviceable and the chimney appeared to be unblocked. He’d seen a pile of cut logs in one of the barns and providing there were still axes, more wood could easily be acquired.</p><p>He confined his exploration to the buildings adjoining the stable yard, not wanting to stray further without express permission. Athos had never been forthcoming about his past life, but although he could swear like a trooper and brawl like a street ruffian, it had been obvious to Treville from their first meeting that the dark haired young man with the haunted blue eyes and refined accent was of noble birth. </p><p>Treville had taken the decision to recommend him for a commission in the Regiment based on his fine swordsmanship and obvious skill with a musket and after distinguishing himself at the bloody siege of la Rochelle, Athos, as he had named himself, had quickly risen in the ranks of the King’s Musketeers. It had taken a year for Treville to learn that he had been born Olivier de la Fère, the eldest son of an impeccable lineage. Eventually, Athos had admitted the tragedy of his marriage and the murder of his brother at the hands of the wife he had loved.</p><p>A return to a house that held so many memories had clearly not been a decision Athos had taken lightly. The last time need had driven him here, he had drunk himself almost to oblivion and nearly died at the hands of his murderous wife while around him his ancestral home burned like a torch. Treville had been relieved to see him lay aside old memories the previous night, drinking only moderately, and this morning he had seemed positively light of heart, which boded well.</p><p>By the time the sun had tracked overhead, Athos returned, followed by a young lad driving a pony and cart. Together they unloaded bread, cheese, smoked meats, vegetables and fruit, as well as a small barrel of ale and some bales of sweet-smelling hay for the horses. Athos had acquired enough food to stand a siege, Treville just hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They thanked the shy lad who’d driven the cart and slipped him a coin for his trouble. He stammered his thanks and rode away, promising to return when needed.</p><p>“The villagers will alert us to anything suspicious and none will learn of our presence from them. No roads pass through the estate and there are no other villages nearby. As only those we trust with our lives know of our whereabouts., we should be as safe here as anywhere.”</p><p>“But I cannot desert my post indefinitely.”</p><p>“His Majesty and the Queen are in safe hands. We will receive word when the threat is over, but for now, there is nothing to be served by fretting.”</p><p>“You make me sound like one of the Queen’s ladies.”</p><p>“One of the queen’s ladies wouldn’t stand here stripped to the waist and as filthy as a street urchin. Once we have filled the pantries we can go to the river. The day looks set to remain fair.”</p><p>After Athos had admired his labours in the kitchen, they ate another light meal of bread and cheese, then gathered their weapons and rode bareback over a rolling meadow to the river. The water, shaded by alder and birch, was clear and deep, tumbling over a small rocky waterfall into a wide pool. Athos promptly stripped off and slid in, swimming with strong strokes to the other side and back.</p><p>“How is it?” Treville enquired, pulling his shirt over his head and tugging off his boots, keen to be rid of the dust that had collected on his sweat-soaked body while he’d wielded the broom to such good effect.</p><p>“Fucking freezing,” Athos admitted. “When did you last swim?”</p><p>“Longer ago than I care to remember but I grew up by a river and after one of the village lads drowned, I made it my business to learn.” </p><p>He caught his breath at the cold water, but he didn’t hesitate as he kicked away from the bank, knowing that to edge in slowly was a mistake. The water was crystal clear and on reaching the middle of the pool, he ducked under and swam down to touch the sandy bottom of the pool where a shoal of small fish quickly scattered away. Treville surfaced and ran his hands through his hair, dislodging the last of the dust.</p><p>“I used to fish here as a boy,” Athos said, as they swam the length of the pool. “The brown trout are good to eat. I stowed some line and hooks in the chest last time I was here.”</p><p>The thought of fresh fish for supper took Treville straight back to his boyhood. He had spent long afternoons in the sun by the river, often returning in triumph with a brace of fat fish, earning approval from their cook.</p><p>When the chill finally drove them back into the dappled sunlight by the water’s edge, they sprawled naked on their backs and let the sun warm their bodies. Treville drifted into sleep and woke to the slow movement of Athos’ long-fingered hands on his body, looking up into lover’s face, seeing it for once wholly open and unguarded. He reached up, touching the backs of his fingers to Athos’ cheek.</p><p>Athos pressed a soft kiss to Treville’s palm. The gesture warmed his heart even more than the sun warmed his body. Their touching remained light and sensual, as they took the time to learn each other’s bodies in the full light of day, a luxury they had never previously been able to indulge.</p><p>Athos moved from scar to scar, kissing each one in turn: the long but fortunately shallow furrow a musket ball had gouged out of his side at la Rochelle; the thin white line left by a sword slash to his right thigh obtained in a cavalry skirmish and so on down the muscle-corded body. </p><p>The trail of light fingertips told Treville that his lover had reached the scar on his calf he received in his first serious battle, when only a lucky twist to one side had saved him from being hamstrung. The wound had festered and at one point there were fears for his lower leg.</p><p>“Turn over,” Athos instructed. “You have a fine arse and I have a mind to admire it in daylight.”</p><p>Obligingly, Treville rolled over, pillowing his head on his arms. Athos rubbed his shoulders, seeking out any knots in the muscles and working them loose with a deft touch. The skilled fingers worked their way gradually downwards until they reached Treville’s buttocks. Instantly, unwanted memories hit him with the force of a musket ball as the rape and torture he’d endured in the Bastille during the brief ascendency of the king’s vengeful mother, Marie de Medici, flooded back.</p><p>Treville twisted around and sat up, shaking off Athos’ questing hands, his breathing coming now in harsh pants.</p><p>“Steady!” Athos took him by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. “That’s in the past. Let it go…”</p><p>Treville drew in a shuddering breath. “I’d hoped those memories had gone.” He relaxed under Athos’ gentle touch and turned onto his stomach again. “It hasn’t taken me like that for a long time.”</p><p>“Such memories never go.” His lover’s tone was pragmatic, holding a wealth of experience that Treville had never dared delve into too far. “Let me replace them with better ones.” Athos went back to his previous slow massage, keeping his hands to Treville’s shoulders.</p><p>The next long breath was calmer as he forced the memories back into their box and slammed down the lid. It was rarely acknowledged but rape was a hazard that all captured soldiers faced. When women were scarce, victorious fighters with lax commanders would slake their hunger in other ways, and priests knew when to make themselves scare. Treville had only once needed to hang a musketeer for such a crime. The story was still told to new recruits. From that, his men knew he would not tolerate any excess that would bring shame on the regiment.</p><p>The undemanding fingers started to work their slow magic again. This time, he did not tense when Athos’ warm breath ghosted over his arse and a light finger trailed down his crest, rubbing lightly over his puckered hole.</p><p>“Leaving the saddles in the yard was a mistake,” Athos remarked. “My gun oil is in one of the bags.”</p><p>Treville laughed at the obvious disappointment in the younger man’s voice. “Then for that we will need to wait for tonight.”</p><p>A theatrical sigh greeted his words. “I have never seen the virtue in patience.” The questing finger traced the line of a scar at the top of Treville’s right thigh. “I’ve been remiss. This isn’t one I’ve noticed before.”</p><p>“Montauban, ’21. Not one of Louis’ better enterprises. I gained that in a pointless skirmish that cost the lives of ten good men. I was trying to drag one of our wounded onto a horse and a man I thought I’d taken down turned out not to have been as dead as I thought.” </p><p>Athos’ strong hand ran over Treville’s arse again and this time he did not tense.</p><p>“I was 24 when I left here, vowing never to return,” Athos remarked. “If it hadn’t been for that mission to take Bonnaire to Paris, I might never have set foot on this estate again.”</p><p>Treville kept his head pillowed on his arms, divining that Athos might fight it easier to talk to his back than his face. “Do you intend to remain as an absentee lord?”</p><p>Athos hesitated so long before replying that Treville thought his question would go unanswered. “I don’t know. When Porthos was injured and we were forced to take refuge here, I felt like a spear had been driven into my guts but later, the knowledge that she was not dead changed things. I had carried that burden for five years and was never free of it apart from when I managed to drink myself into oblivion.”</p><p>“Do you still love her?” The question left Treville’s lips before he could bite it back. The warm hands on his back stilled and Treville cursed himself for a fool. He should have let Athos tell his story in his own way. “Athos, I’m sorry, that is not a question I should have asked.”</p><p>“Remember our conversation this morning when you said there was no question I could not ask you?”</p><p>“I also said that I might choose not to answer.”</p><p>The silence stretched between them, as taut as a wire.</p><p>When Athos spoke again, his voice was barely louder than the breeze in the trees. “I choose to answer. No, I do not still love her. Maybe I never did. I loved the woman I thought I knew, not the woman she is. I was young. I mistook passion for love. Maybe the passion is still there, but the love has gone. We would destroy each other like two moths to a flame and I have seen enough of flames.” </p><p>He felt the brush of Athos’ beard between his shoulders and felt the press of lips to the back of his neck. “Come. Let me show you what remains of the house. I would value your opinion.”</p><p>They dressed in silence, the tension in the air gone like morning missed chased away by sunlight. </p><p>Athos pulled Treville into a lingering kiss and his embrace said more than words could easily express.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Much of the structure remains sound,” Treville pronounced, staring at the blackened façade with interest.</p><p>Athos smiled. He’d hoped the verdict would be favourable, but he did not have Treville’s experience with stone and fortifications. “The fire burned hot and fast, but I think the rain quenched it before too much of the mortar cracked.”</p><p>“Where was the stone quarried?”</p><p>“On our own estate. I used to play in the quarry as a boy, much to the chagrin of my tutors. There is still good stone to be had there. Not enough to sell commercially, but enough to restore Pinon to its former glory, perhaps.”</p><p>“Then save as much of your coin as you can and employ a master builder when you retire. If the house no longer makes you want to drink yourself into oblivion and spew your guts before starting over again, this can be made into a home again. The rents from the village would cover what you need.”</p><p>“I have not been entirely honest about my circumstances,” Athos said, staring at the blackened timbers that had once held up the roof. He shot a quick sideways to see how the statement had been received</p><p>The familiar mix of exasperation and amusement settled on his commander’s lined face. “Athos, you have not been entirely honest about your circumstances since the day we met, and I have not held that against you.”</p><p>“My family have long held other estates, as well. Bragellone near Blois still produces a healthy income that has done nothing more than gather dust in equally dusty coffers. I have drawn on no more than my soldier’s pay since joining the Regiment, leaving more than adequate funds to restore Pinon if I so choose.”</p><p>“It is fortunate you do not have Porthos’ gambling habits.” Treville sounded more amused than exasperated now, and Athos dared to turn fully towards him, the smile on his captain’s face driving away the anxiety that had settled on his stomach during their conversation by the river. When Athos had finally divulged his story to his comrades, he had omitted all mention of the estate near Blois and, afterwards, had not even been sure why. Maybe it was just that for so long he’d succeeded in putting his old life behind him, and as a soldier, his needs were modest – apart from his drinking, and that would not be improved by ready access to more silver.</p><p>After two years in the Regiment, he had finally sent his steward at Blois the address of his Paris lodgings, and instructed the man to continue to manage the estate as he had always done. His father had always sworn by the man’s honesty, and a firm of bankers of repute in Blois sent a independent yearly account to verify the funds. Athos had long known that if he survived to retire from the musketeers, he would be able to live more than comfortably at Bragelonne, even without the revenue from the tenants in Pinon. </p><p>“I employed commendable restraint not having the contents of my father’s cellars shipped to Paris.” Athos led Treville back to the still serviceable kitchen and unlocked a sturdy oak door hidden behind a large wooden dresser. A lit candle served to guide their feet down a set of steep stone stairs to an extensive series of brick-lined cellars. One side led to the family vaults that held the tombs of his brother and his ancestors, along with a small armoury that his father had maintained should the estate need to raise a militia. On the other side of a central corridor lay the wine cellars, with racks lining the walls, filled with dusty bottles.</p><p>Treville drew a bottle from one rack and examined the label. “Your father had good taste and good suppliers, if what we drank last night was a fair sample.”</p><p>“Last night’s wine was from the lower end of the scale. Tonight, we will dine on venison pie and eat good cheese and fresh bread and I will choose something more fitting for that. There is also brandy that will be to your taste, rather than the muck you usually foist on me when I am in a foul mood.”</p><p>“When you’re in a foul mood, all you deserve is the muck. I buy it especially for accommodating your excesses.”</p><p>Athos chose the bottles carefully. The afternoon spent by the river had left him in a mood so mellow that he had surprised even himself. He had not expected the question that Treville had let slip and the answer had not been one he thought he’d ever have been able to give. Another burden had finally lifted from his heart.</p><p>His short visits to Pinon after its destruction had forced him to confront the raw truth of his own feelings for the woman he had once called his wife. He’d left the estate with his youthful idealism in tatters. Five years as a soldier had schooled him in a very different reality. With Treville’s help, he had risen quickly, turning his salon-taught sword skills into something altogether more deadly. War had tempered both mind and body and drink had dulled his sensibilities when needed. Now, he drank more for pleasure and companionship, no longer chasing oblivion like a hound in pursuit of a deer.</p><p>In the kitchen, Treville busied himself lighting a fire with the kindling and dry logs he’d brought in from one of the barns, while Athos found plates and glasses and set out some of the food he had brought from the village. The first time he had returned after the fire the simple welcome and acceptance from the villagers had touched his heart, especially once they understood that he would not be seeking five years’ worth of back rent. In those brief visits he had experienced an unexpected peace and it was that peace he had found himself wanting to share with Treville, although he hadn’t imagined circumstances under which he would ever be able to fulfil that wish. </p><p>They ate at the table before retiring to two carved wooden chairs in front of the fire. On one of his earlier visits, Athos had salvaged some rugs from the more undamaged portion of the house, one of while he had spread on the floor in front of the fire. Only this area of the servants’ quarters remained habitable. The rest of the building would require gutting, and after Treville’s words on the subject, he was seriously considering commissioning the necessary work. </p><p>He went to his knees to throw another log on the fire, then poured more wine into Treville’s glass, settling down comfortably on the rug at his feet. Treville carded his fingers absently through his hair, a gesture that Athos always found soothing.</p><p>“Are there any more revelations to come?” Treville enquired quietly.</p><p>Athos looked up at him conscious of the fact that there were times his captain could still make him feel like a raw recruit but on this occasion, there was nothing more than gentle enquiry in his eyes.</p><p>“I could no doubt bore you with matters of family history such that you would be begging for an assassin’s bullet within a day.”</p><p>“Athos, it’s a rare pleasure to hear you to talk about anything at length.”</p><p>Athos brought Treville’s hand to his lips and kissed the open palm. “That’s not what you told me last night, but on my word as a musketeer, there are no more revelations.” There were still words in his heart that had not yet been spoken, but that was another matter. For now, he hoped simple gestures would suffice.</p><p>Treville leaned forward and took Athos’ own hand in his, turning his palm upwards and returning the kiss, then sliding his lips down to caress the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. The sensation went straight to Athos’ cock. He reached up and took Treville’s other hand in his and leaned back, drawing Treville down onto the rug by the fire. They kissed, gently at first, then with growing heat. Athos pulled off his shirt then set to work unlacing Treville’s and tugging it over his head. Boots, breeches and undergarments followed, leaving them naked in front of the warm fire. Treville lay in a loose-limbed sprawl, seemingly content to let Athos take the lead again. When he shifted position onto his stomach, Athos resumed the slow examination of his lover’s body with mouth and hands, and this time there was no tension when he worked his way lower.</p><p>Breaking off for a moment, he quickly fetched the small bottle of fine oil he used for his rapier and pistol. Slicking one finger, he slid it along Treville’s cleft then pressed against the puckered hole. He was conscious of Treville drawing in a deep breath, but he could feel no intrusive panic. He probed gently, slipping his finger into his lover’s warm body, massaging in the oil, and opening him while peppering the strong back with light kisses.</p><p>When Treville pushed back against the intrusion, Athos slicked his own hard cock and covered his lover’s body, pressing himself gently home. Treville gasped and arched his head back. Athos took his weight on his elbows and set up a gentle movement, edging further in.</p><p>“I can take it,” Treville said, his war-roughened voice soft but urgent.</p><p>Athos nuzzled his neck. “I know you can, but we rarely get the chance to take this slowly. This is a rare chance to fuck you senseless and then sleep in the same bed with you again all night.”</p><p>He drew back until only the head of his cock remained sheathed in his lover’s body, then he drove in hard in one smooth movement, drawing a throaty gasp in response. He then proceeded to exploit to the full all the ways he’d learned to pleasure his lover in their brief trysts. He licked the salty sweat that formed on Treville’s skin and nipped lightly at the back of his neck, listening in delight to the small moans of pleasure he was able to draw out of a man who prided himself on his self-control.</p><p>Treville wasn’t the only one able to exercise self-control. Athos held himself in check as much as he could, concentrating on Treville’s pleasure rather than his own, finding the angle that drew breathy groans, the depth of thrust that made Treville push back, wanting more. Soon, he could soon tell from the quickness of his lover’s indrawn breaths that he was close, so very close. He lowered his head to nuzzle his neck again as he covered Treville warm body and increased the pace of his thrusts.</p><p>A sharp gasp told him all he needed to know and the reflexive spasm around his cock made the heat pool low in Athos’ belly as he hit his own climax hard, thrusting through the blaze of molten fire that coursed through his body. When the final tremors had passed through him, he rolled onto his side, pulling Treville over onto his back so that Athos could lose himself in a open-mouthed kiss before he drew back and drink in the sight of Treville’s face lit by the warm firelight, open, relaxed and vulnerable in a way that Athos knew only he was privileged to see.</p><p>He quirked his scarred lip into a smile and reached over to the hearth where he’d left the brandy to warm. Without bothering to find a glass, he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a small sip and then letting it trickle from his lips into Treville’s open mouth. Their next kiss tasted of good brandy and shared warmth.</p><p>The fire was glowing red and neither of them were in a hurry to move. Athos pillowed his head on Treville’s chest, moving only to gain and share another mouthful of brandy. Treville stroked his hand over Athos’s shoulders and carded his fingers through his unruly hair. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was redolent with companionship. Athos allowed himself to contemplate what life could be like at a restored Pinon with Treville by his side. He knew it was no more than a fireside dream, there was no way that the captain of the Musketeers would leave the service of the king he had sworn to protect, and no way that Athos would ask him to. The life of a soldier suited them both and the bonds that bound Athos to Porthos and Aramis and now young d’Artagnan could not so easily be set aside, either.</p><p>“It does not have to be all or nothing,” Treville said, with his uncanny knack of being able to divine Athos’ thoughts. “As long as we remain discreet, Richelieu and his church will have no cause for censure.”</p><p>“The cardinal has the morals of a syphilitic stoat.”</p><p>“Not something I would dispute. Yet despite that he has what he sees as the good of France at heart, and it is that devotion that makes him dangerous.”</p><p>“Killing the Queen was for the good of France?”</p><p>“France needs an heir. But the price of that is not the life of the Queen. I don’t believe that is a game he will play again.”</p><p>“Do you genuinely believe he has no hand in this plot against you?”</p><p>“As I said before, he has no more reason to want me dead now than he has done in the past. To my knowledge he has never acted against me personally.”</p><p>“Then let us leave dark thoughts until daylight. The investigation is out of our hands for now.”</p><p>“And this excellent brandy should not be sullied by politics.”</p><p>Athos obliged by letting more trickle between Treville’s lips.</p><p>They lay together until the fire burned low, then retired to the small bedroom.</p><p>Sleep claimed them both quickly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week passed more quickly than Treville would have believed possible. </p><p>The weather remained fair and they fell into a simple routine of working in the morning clearing the fire damage in the mansion house and then spending the afternoon riding, hunting for the pot and washing off in the river.</p><p>Treville enjoyed the hard manual labour, stripped to the waist, sweating as they dragged out charred timbers, piling them up to be burnt at a later date, but not now when a large bonfire would only advertise their presence at Pinon. Athos worked beside him, also bare chested, making it hard at times to exercise self-control as he watched the play of muscle on Athos’ tanned arms as he hauled out another blackened beam with relentless energy.</p><p>The physical work kept him from brooding over his enforced exile from Paris and the King’s side, nor could he dwell on the identity of the person who wanted him dead. No amount of thought had assisted in that regard and he had finally been forced to shelve the subject from his mind. By night, they ate in the kitchen and relaxed in front of the fire. To Athos’ delight, they had been able to salvage some books from the former library, and they were able to spend time reading by candlelight, a rare pleasure for Treville.</p><p>Despite knowing Athos for five years, Treville had learned more about his past this past week than in all their previous time together. When they’d first met, the moody young man had barely been able to contain his anger, but with a sword in hand, his fluid grace and blinding speed had immediately impressed Treville. With the massacre at Savoy having robbed the Regiment of twenty-one of its best soldiers, Treville needed to bring his troops back up to strength as quickly as possible. The well-educated young man was clearly of noble birth, well used to giving orders and expecting to be obeyed. Treville was unconcerned by the man’s refusal to reveal anything of his background. Men sold their swords for many reasons, both good and bad, but Treville regarded himself as a good judge of men’s hearts and he’d been prepared to take a chance on the young man who insisted on being known only by the obviously assumed name of Athos.</p><p>The King had commissioned him on Treville’s recommendation, and Athos had seen his first action during Louis’ offensive to retake the Isle de Ré in 1625. During the bloody conflict, Athos quickly gained the respect of his fellow musketeers and demonstrated natural leadership skills. His icy calm in the face of at times overwhelming odds had quickly led to Treville’s increasing reliance on the handsome, laconic young man. Aramis and Porthos, two of the most experienced soldiers in the Regiment had taken a liking to him and together the trio made a formidable fighting unit.</p><p>One bloody conflict followed another, with the musketeers establishing themselves as a force to be reckoned with in the protection of their king, as well as undertaking missions that Louis preferred not to entrust to others. </p><p>“A hand here, if you please,” Athos panted, breaking into Treville’s reverie.</p><p>Athos had wound a rope around a heavy roof beam, and together, they hauled it out of a pile of rubble that had once formed an internal wall.</p><p>They worked until the sun had passed its height then ate a light lunch and retired to the river to wash the grime from their skins. Once they were dressed, with weapons once again hanging from their belts, Athos set a course across a wide meadow, in a direction they had not previously ridden. The horses picked their way up a low hill commanding a wide view of the surrounding area, topped with a lone oak tree with wide, spreading branches. Athos slid from the saddle, letting the reins slip from his fingers. His eyes were hooded and Treville was struck by the pallor of his skin.</p><p>He dismounted and laid a light hand on his lover’s shoulder. “Athos?”</p><p>“I hung her from this tree.” The stark words were calm but held a wealth of pain. </p><p>“She killed your brother.” </p><p>Athos slipped over his head the chain of the locket he had carried all the time Treville had known him. He had always presumed it held some token of the young man’s mother, but now he realised his mistake. </p><p>“I clung to this as a memory of happier times. I thought I could let it go once, after warning her never to set foot in Paris again, but picked it up again later that night, to my shame. Now I wish to bury it forever.” Athos took his dagger and cut a deep hole in the ground, letting the locket fall into the earth. Without saying a word, he replaced the turf and stamped it down with his boot.</p><p>When he turned to Treville, the colour had returned to his face. They stood for a moment in silence and then Treville pulled him into a embrace, kissing the tears from Athos’ face. </p><p>“It is finally over,” Athos said, when they drew apart, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.</p><p>Side by side, they walked down the hill, their horses following behind.</p><p>As they crossed the meadow in front of the ruined mansion, Athos came to an abrupt halt and shaded his eyes with one hand as he stared into the distance. “Horsemen.”</p><p>That one word tore apart the peace of the past week. Athos threw himself astride his horse as Treville equally quickly mounted and reached for the spy glass he habitually carried. </p><p>“Seven men and eight horses. Do we make a stand here or ride?” He handed the glass to Athos.</p><p>Athos hesitated, staring down the long brass tube. “Porthos is on the lead horse.” The relief in his voice was palpable. </p><p>“It does not take seven men to inform us that the threat is ended.”</p><p>“No, it does not,” Athos conceded. “I can also make out Aramis and Gallagher. They are all armed with muskets and the spare horse is carrying more weapons. That does not bode well.”</p><p>Once in sight of the house, the horsemen slowed their pace to a walk, but it was not long before Treville was able to make out the features of all the men. After a surprised gash, he traded astonished glances with Athos.</p><p>Beside Porthos and Aramis rode a young man they had last seen at the Château de la Lune several months ago. Philippe de Beaune had acquitted himself well in the battle for the castle and although Treville had harboured some hopes that the young man might consider a military career in the service of his king, his presence at Pinon was unexpected. Almost as unexpected as the presence of three red-cloaked soldiers who rode at his side. A sharp intake of breath signalled that Athos had been caught equally unawares. At the rear of the company rode the Irish mercenary, Charles Gallagher, his lips curved in a sardonic smile.</p><p>Captain Jussac of the Cardinal’s Red Guard saluted Treville. “Captain, I’m pleased to find you well. His Eminence sends his regards.” Jussac, a laconic man in his mid-thirties, had taken over command of Richelieu’s personal guard after the death of Captain Trudeaux at the hands of Martin Labarge. To his credit, Jussac had little tolerance for the antipathy between his guards and the musketeers and had thrown his energy and his men’s into endless drills designed to soak up excess energy and leave little time for brawling. With him rode Cahusac, a long-time antagonist of Athos’, and Bernajoux, notorious for his clashes with Porthos.</p><p>“How long have we got to arm ourselves?” Treville demanded, dispensing with a dozen questions clamouring for precedence on his tongue.</p><p>“We don’t know, Captain,” Aramis admitted. “We are not even wholly certain this refuge has been compromised.”</p><p>“Then we’ll draw water for the horses while we talk,” Treville said. “It is good to see you, Vicomte,” he added to Philippe.</p><p>“Welcome to Pinon,” Athos said dryly, casting a look at his fellow musketeers that said louder than any words that their explanation for the presence of the Red Guards had better be to his liking.</p><p>****</p><p>“Marie de Medici?” Treville barked, failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I know she has no cause to love me, but why now?”</p><p>“She is on the verge of bankruptcy,” Jussac said, accepting the water Athos handed to him with a grateful nod. Her exile in Brussels has used up what is left of her resources. Unless she can reach an accommodation with the King, her prospects are dismal, to put it mildly.”</p><p>“And you are deemed to be the principal impediment in the way of her plans to ingratiate herself with His Majesty,” Aramis added.</p><p>“More so than the Cardinal?” </p><p>“He is believed by her to be more capable of taking a political view.” Treville was surprised by Jussac’s bluntness. “By which I mean she feels there are ways to regain his support, but she knows it will be a cold day in hell before you succumb to her blandishments. We are here to bear witness to the fact that His Eminence has no intention of becoming embroiled in her latest machinations.”</p><p>“And you know all this how?” Athos demanded.</p><p>“The cardinal has long suspected the Duc de Montmorency of continuing to harbour sympathies for de Medici. Our enquiries uncovered financial assistance provided to her by an agent of his in the Spanish Lowlands. His Eminence does not believe her return to be in the best interests of the King or France.”</p><p>“There were rumours in the Court about the contract,” Porthos said, and Treville knew he meant the Court of Miracles, not the King’s court. “Flea said she’d heard there was serious money on offer, but she hadn’t been able to find out who had taken the coin.”</p><p>“There was tavern talk, too,” Aramis supplied. “But again, nothing we could run to earth.”</p><p>“The agent who approached me wasn’t one I knew,” Gallagher said, leaning back against a wall in the courtyard, his casual posture wholly deceptive. “I made further enquiries and was able to trace him again. He had been well paid for his discretion.” Gallagher let the silence stretch for a moment, then added, “Unfortunately for him, I can be persuasive when I set my mind to it. Our friends here had made it plain that subtlety wasn’t required, and with the hit now live, time was of the essence. He admitted to working for Montmorency and to him providing funding to further de Medici’s plans.”</p><p>“Is my would-be assassin known to you?” While Gallagher had been speaking, the thought had crossed Treville’s mind that Athos’s wife might have a hand somewhere in matters.</p><p>“Montmorency’s agent used the name Boucher, a Huguenot, so we believe. I’ve heard the name on the circuit for some years but was never sure if it was a name or a nickname. There are many men in my line of work who like to style themselves the Butcher, but this one is said to have some notable kills to his name. He’s also known for his willingness to take contracts against women and even children.” The Irish mercenary’s distaste was evident in his tone. </p><p>Treville looked from Gallagher to Philippe de Beaune, perched on the wall of the well. “And you believe this Boucher is connected to the plot against Queen Anne that endangered your stepmother.” It was a statement, not a question. He well-remembered the name of the treacherous housekeeper who had given up the castle’s secrets to the attacking Huguenots. Boucher, an embittered woman with no love for a Catholic queen.</p><p>Philippe nodded. “Our former housekeeper did not enjoy her sojourn in the castle’s dungeon. My father is not an unnecessarily cruel man, but an attack on the Queen that endangered my stepmother and my new-born stepbrother and sister could not be countenanced. He kept her on starvation rations, hoping to extract more information about the plot from her before hanging her for her treason but finally, he grew tired of the curses she was heaping on our immortal souls. Before she died, she claimed that her nephew would avenge her death.”</p><p>“The vicomte arrived at the garrison two days after you left, Captain,” Aramis said. “There’s something else…” He drew a sealed letter from inside his leather coat and handed it to Athos. “A messenger came to your lodgings recently and when your landlady said he hadn’t seen you for four days, she directed him to the garrison. He left this for you.”</p><p>Athos tore open the letter and scanned it contents. Treville caught a flicker of anger in the vivid blue eyes, but beyond that, Athos’ face remained as impassive as ever.</p><p>“We must assume that this Boucher knows our location.” Athos folded the letter and stowed it in a pouch on his belt. “As for how long we have, I would assume no more than one or two days.” </p><p>The group in the courtyard stared expectantly at Athos, but nothing more was forthcoming. He stood up and stalked away, his expression forbidding company. Aramis and Porthos traded glances but made no move to follow.</p><p>“D’Artagnan and the Regiment remain with the King and Queen,” Aramis said, answering the question on Treville’s lips. </p><p>“There is a possibility that the threat to you is a feint to draw the musketeers away from Paris,” Jussac said. “For that reason, it was deemed unwise to send more men, and a large force out of the city would only have attracted too much attention. We left independently and besides, an alliance between the Musketeers and the Red Guard would hardly be expected.”</p><p>The look on the faces of his two men told Treville that the cardinal’s guards had not exactly been their first choice. Treville was more phlegmatic. From what he had seen of Jussac, the man was a good soldier who was finally instilling some discipline into the musketeers’ traditional opponents. Cathusac was undoubtedly the Red Guard’s finest swordsman. He had a reputation as a hothead, but with a blade in hand he exhibited the same icy calm that characterised Athos’ fighting skills. The two men had gone head to head on more than one occasion and were known to have unfinished business between them. Bernajoux rivalled Porthos in stature and was a brawler by nature. He was also said to be an excellent marksman. Given a choice of the cardinal’s men, these were three Treville would have requested. He gave silent thanks to Richelieu for the aid.</p><p>When Athos showed no immediate sign of returning, Treville followed him out of the stable yard into the overgrown walled garden that had once supplied the house with abundant vegetables, herbs and fruit.</p><p>“Who sent the letter?” </p><p>“My steward at Bragellone. One of the servants went missing. His body was found in the woods. He had been tortured. We have to assume that Boucher knew of my former identity and now knows of the existence of Pinon.”</p><p>“How did he discover your connection to Bragellone?”</p><p> “My father visited the estate often. Marie de Medici was exiled to Blois for two years. They met there on several occasions and he disliked her intensely.” Athos looked rueful. “I was always told that I closely resembled my father.”</p><p>“And de Medici saw you frequently during her attempt to re-ingratiate herself with Louis,” Treville finished. “You are right to assume Boucher knows of Pinon.”</p><p>“Bringing you here was a mistake. I should never have relied on my anonymity.”</p><p>Treville laid a land on the younger man’s shoulder. “De Medici’s involvement is not something we could have easily foreseen. And anyway, I am as happy to make a stand here as anywhere.”</p><p>Athos smiled a cold, dangerous smile. “We will make them will regret bringing this fight here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cahusac entered the courtyard at a run. “They’re coming. Thirty men approaching on horseback. Well-armed.”</p><p>“So it begins,” Athos said quietly. It had taken no more than two days for the assassins to arrive at Pinon, but the defenders had put that time to good use. Athos was confident that his plan was a good one, but he knew all too well that a plan rarely survived the first clash of arms.</p><p>“Three to one,” commented Jussac. “Your sort of odds, so I’m told.”</p><p>Athos smiled a cold smile. “It’s no fun if victory comes too easily, but it seems they are relying on overwhelming us with superior numbers. Something they’ll come to regret.”</p><p>“Let us hope so.” The Red Guard captain nodded to Athos and slipped out of the courtyard, followed by Cahusac, leaving only Athos and Treville in place, behind a barricade of blackened timbers.</p><p>“Do you think they will believe we are alone here?” Treville asked.</p><p>“They have not taken the time to scout the surrounding area so they will not have discovered the horses. They will be relying on surprise. Two men would find it hard to prevail against those numbers.” </p><p>“This contract will be dearly bought.” Treville’s tone was grim.</p><p>Athos touched his hand lightly. “This will end at Pinon.”</p><p>“Good. Hiding has never been to my liking.” A swift smile lit his battle-hardened features and he added softly, for Athos’ ears alone, “But this confinement has had much to recommend it.” As he spoke, he sighted along the barrel of his musket, poking through a hole in the wooden barricade. “It is a shame we do not know what this Boucher looks like.”</p><p>“My guess is that he will let one of his men take the lead position.”</p><p>Athos watched as Treville sighted on a horseman two lengths behind the leading man and fired. A loud crack from the musket shot split the peace of the afternoon like an axe cleaving wood. One of the riders was knocked off his horse, falling sideways into the path of those behind him. As Athos handed Treville a second loaded weapon and set to work preparing the first musket to fire again, three more shots rang out, this time from the stand of trees to the left of the attacking force.</p><p>“Four down,” Treville commented. “Not one missed shot.”</p><p>“I expected nothing less,” Athos replied.</p><p>The horsemen wheeled their mounts in confusion, looking for the source of the shots, but to no avail. Athos knew the marksmen would already be moving through the woodland to take up new firing positions.</p><p>“They know now we’re not alone.” Treville sighted for a second time and fired again. Another rider dropped.</p><p>A harsh voice yelled orders and the horsemen regrouped, trying to put themselves out of range of the muskets. One more shot cracked out and the tail end rider slumped over his horse’s neck.</p><p>“Thirty to twenty-four. I think the honours in this skirmish have gone to the defenders.”</p><p>Jussac’s quiet voice spoke behind them. “The horses are ready.”</p><p>Athos handed the second loaded musket to him. “Guard the captain with your life.”</p><p>“That’s what I’m here for,” Jussac replied.</p><p>Athos sprinted for the walled garden and vaulted onto Roger’s back. The big horse sprang out of the walled garden, closely followed by Cahusac on a spirited chestnut mare. They wheeled their mounts around and made for the meadow at the back of the house.</p><p>A yell went up from the attackers and immediately, four horsemen broke away from the group in pursuit.</p><p>Athos knew every inch of the countryside surrounding Pinon. It was his job to split off some of the assassins from the main group while Aramis, Gallagher and Bernajoux did their best to pick off as many men as they could. He rode low to Roger’s neck, presenting as small a target as possible, Cahusac followed suit. Their pursuers were not close enough to bring their pistols into play, so it was no more than a precaution, but as Athos constantly drilled into the cadets at the garrison, precautions save lives.</p><p>The horses thundered at a full gallop away from the mansion down a sunken way that led to the old family chapel built on the estate by Athos’ great-grandfather for the private worship of the Comte de la Fère and his family. Athos had drilled Cahusac on his plan and as soon as they reached the clearing in the woods surrounding the small stone building, they dismounted and made a dash for the trees.</p><p>The horsemen followed, caught momentarily unawares at seeing two loose horses with no riders. In their confusion, they failed to notice Porthos and Philippe de Beaune come out from behind the chapel, a pistol in each hand.</p><p>Porthos’ first shot took one of the horsemen in the chest, his second winged a man in the shoulder. Athos saw Philippe’s first shot go wide as one of the horses skittered sideways. The second, fired left-handed with impressive skill, found its mark and a man slumped sideways. Athos and Cahusac ran back from the trees, firing one shot each as they closed on the enemy then drawing their rapiers. The two men that remained mounted did their best to use their horses to their advantage, but the beasts were not as well drilled as a musketeer’s mount that would answer to no more than its rider’s knees, leaving both hands free to wield weapons.</p><p>One man threw his leg over his horse’s back, dismounting quickly and throwing himself at Cahusac, his sword flashing dangerously in the afternoon sun. The red guard parried the first vicious thrust easily and launched a counterattack that immediately cast the mercenary on the back foot. Cahusac quickly pressed home his advantage, gaining ground and landing a strike on the man’s sword arm.</p><p>More musket shots at a distance set pigeons flapping from the trees, followed by the sound of pistols returning fire. The attackers were regrouping, but their numbers were rapidly becoming more manageable.</p><p>The horseman gave an angry yell and set his horse at Athos, sweeping his sword down in a heavy stroke. Athos leaped nimbly aside, getting in a deep slash at the man’s thigh as the horse charged past.</p><p>A pistol shot came from close by and the man toppled backwards, clutching his stomach. All the attackers were down; not all were dead.</p><p>Athos ran to the side of the man Philippe had brought down, grabbing his hair and twisting his head back to expose his throat.</p><p>“What does Boucher look like?” he demanded. </p><p>The man’s only answer was to spit at Athos’ face. The spittle feel short. Athos dashed the back of his gloved hand across the man’s face. “Mind your manners. I asked you a question…”</p><p>“Go to hell!”</p><p>“Tell me and I’ll spare your life.”</p><p>“I said go to hell, musketeer!”</p><p>“Have it your own way…” Athos drew his dagger across the man’s exposed throat, twisting his erstwhile opponent away so that the spurt of blood coated the grass, not his jacket.</p><p>A cry of pain told him that Porthos was questioning one of the other men.</p><p>“Mine was stubborn,” Athos commented.</p><p>“So’s this ‘un.”</p><p>“We don’t have time for this and we can’t afford to take prisoners. Assassins deserve no quarter.”</p><p>Without hesitation, Porthos drove his dagger into the man’s heart and stood up. “Four more down.” He threw an approving look at Philippe. “Well done, vicomte. We’ll make a musketeer of you in no time.”</p><p>The clash of steel on steel told Athos that Cahusac was still engaging the fourth man. “Do you need assistance?” he called.</p><p>“In your dreams, musketeer,” Cahusac replied, not even panting, despite the force of the blows he was smoothly parrying. He sidestepped the next attack and launched a blindingly fast high-line strike that slipped past the other man’s guard and took him full in the throat.</p><p>“Flashy,” Porthos commented. “You boys ‘ave been practising.”</p><p>Cahusac saluted with his bloody sword before wiping it on the fallen body of his opponent and returning it to its scabbard. “Kind of them to leave their horses behind.” </p><p>He swung up into the saddle of his own horse and Philippe grabbed the reins of a grey mare, gentling the nervous animal for a moment before springing lightly into the saddle. Roger came at Athos’ whistle as Porthos mounted a thickset black with a white blaze on its nose.</p><p>“Let’s hope there’s some fun left for us at the house,” Cahusac commented wheeling his horse to gallop back up the sunken track.</p><p>As they neared the mansion, the four riders reined in at the edge of the trees, intending to take stock of the situation before re-joining the fight. The tally Athos had been keeping in his head told him that at least ten of the attackers were dead or serious wounded. Boucher seemed to have been caught awares, throwing his men headlong into a fight against what he must have presumed were grossly outnumbered defenders. But Athos knew there was no room for complacency. They were still facing heavy odds. </p><p>He scanned the field quickly, taking in a group of horsemen milling about in the meadow, out of effective musket range. There was no sign of Aramis, Gallagher and Bernajoux. Even experienced marksmen would not take a shot at that distance. </p><p>“Philippe, Porthos, they don’t know you were in the woods,” Athos said. “Let’s keep it that way. We don’t need their mounts, so take what there is by way of spare weapons and ammunition in their bags and let’s send their horses back.”</p><p>Moments later, spurred on by the flat of their former riders’ hands, the two horses broke into a run across the meadow as Porthos and Philippe melted away into the trees. Taking advantage of the distraction, Athos and Cahusac circled around to the back of the courtyard, returning their mounts to the walled garden before joining Treville and Jussac at the barricade.</p><p>Treville raised his eyebrows in enquiry.</p><p>“Four dead,” Athos stated. “We were unable to extract any information about the Butcher.”</p><p>“I’m not convinced he’s here,” Treville said. “That lot are competent, but nothing special. This could be a distraction.”</p><p>“A costly one,” Jussac remarked. “We took down another three and wounded a fourth. It’s been like a rabbit shoot in the Bois de Boulogne.”</p><p>“That’s what worries me.” Treville cast his eyes at the buildings surrounding the courtyard and the entrance to the walled garden. “How easy would it be for a small force to outflank us from the rear?”</p><p>“With three marksmen in the woods, I hope it would not be too easy a task, but there is always the risk of reinforcements. Perhaps it is time we advanced the plan…”</p><p>A sudden flurry of shots broke out in the woods and in the same instant, the milling horsemen set their mounts at the barricade, riding hard and fast.</p><p>Treville bent his concentration back to his musket as Jussac swept up the second loaded weapon and searched for a target. They fired as one. A horse swerved away, trailing a rider with his foot caught in a stirrup but a volley of shots exploded around them, sending chips of blackened wood flying into the air. One grazed Athos’ cheek, narrowly missing his eye. Jussac swore luridly as a pistol ball gouged a red furrow across his upper arm.</p><p>“How bad?” Treville demanded, drawing his own pistol.</p><p>“I can still fight,” Jussac declared calmly.</p><p>“Good, you’ll need to,” Athos said. “Come, we have to move. They’re intending to rush the barricade and they still have the numbers to break through if they try hard enough. Leave the muskets, we won’t need them where we’re going. Cahusac and I will cover you.”</p><p>Without argument, the two captains tossed their muskets aside and ran for the horses. The moment Athos and Cahusac heard hooves approaching from behind, they took rapid aim, fired at the fast approaching attackers then shoved their pistols back into their belts and grabbed the reins of their own horses being tossed to them and throwing themselves onto their mounts. As Athos pulled himself into the saddle, he silently gave thanks to Treville for forcing his men to train in all manner of cavalry manoeuvres, including a running mount, until it became second nature. </p><p>As his horse’s hooves hammered on the beaten earth of the track, he dared a look back over his shoulder and saw the top of the barricades being thrown down and two large horses clearing what was left at speed. They would soon have at least 15 pursuers.</p><p>Athos’ job was to lead them into another trap. He just had to make sure they caught the Butcher as well as his men.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The four horsemen had a head start on their pursuers as they galloped across the meadow to the east of Pinon. </p><p>As far as Treville could see from glances cast back over his shoulder, the whole of the attacking force was now following them, although a riderless horse indicated that one of their marksmen had succeeded in picking off another. </p><p>His reading of the situation was that Boucher could not be certain how many men he had to contend with, but if the man was as good as Gallagher claimed, he would have been able to make a reasonably accurate estimate. Treville knew Athos had been right in his view that holing up and defending the fire-damaged house itself was not an option as there were too many points of approach for a large force to exploit, but it went against the grain to run before assassins and mercenaries.</p><p>A sudden yell made him snap his eyes to the front, in time to see Athos’ normally surefooted mount stumble heavily, throwing his rider from the saddle, Treville wheeled his own mount to the stricken rider as the horse scrambled to its feet, limping heavily off its righthand front leg. A glance down told him that the horse had been brought low by a molehill dug into the soft ground. An unlucky accident that left them desperately exposed.</p><p>Treville leaped from his horse and went to one knee at Athos’ side.</p><p>“Left shoulder,” panted his lover, his face white with pain. “Dislocated.”</p><p>“Your horse is lame,” Treville told him, pulling Athos to his feet with his good arm. “Onto mine, quickly.” He cupped his hands for one booted foot and boosted Athos into the saddle.</p><p>A volley of pistol shots came as the pursuing riders closed the distance between them. </p><p>Treville got his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up behind Athos, urging his horse on, setting its head down a long slope to gain an overgrown trackway shadowed by old yew trees. Behind them he heard Jussac and Cahusac discharging their weapons to buy them some time.</p><p>“That wasn’t in the plan,” Athos said, his teeth clenched against the pain. “Roger?”</p><p>“Lame, but no broken bones, I think.”</p><p>“Damned moles.”</p><p>Treville’s horse jumped a fallen tree and he felt Athos’ tense, but he gave no other outward sign of pain, even though Treville knew all too well the agony of a dislocated shoulder. Around them, a rocky valley with deep branching paths into the trees spoke of old quarrying for stone. The ground was soft underfoot with fallen leaves and rotting branches. Treville pulled up his horse and slithered to the ground, helping Athos from the tall mount, then he slapped the horse’s rump hard. “Go!</p><p>The animal bounded away, scrambling up a path that wound out of the far side of the deep dell.</p><p>Behind them, Treville heard hooves and turned, sweeping his pistol from his belt.</p><p>Cahusac rode into view, closely followed by Jussac. The Red Guards dismounted quickly, sending their horses on their way to follow Treville’s out of the valley. </p><p>Jussac was limping from a gash in his thigh. “Caught a stray shot. Too far for accuracy but near enough to do damage.” </p><p>They made their way to a cliff at the far side of the dell overhung by a trailing yew clinging to the fractured rock face. A large, dark entrance stood out starkly against green ferns clustering thickly around the square opening. Despite his injury, Athos made his way quickly over fallen branches to slip inside. Treville followed, with Jussac’s arm thrown over his shoulders while Cahusac guarded their backs.</p><p>“They’re coming!” the young swordsman hissed, following them into darkness.</p><p>The floor was flat but littered with fallen stone. They moved as quickly as they could, heading deeper into the mine. Daylight dimmed, leaving them in twilight that quickly gave way to darkness. As Athos had shown them on their first visit two days ago, they stuck to the left-hand wall where they had taken the time to clear the obstacles from their path, enabling them to move on quickly without light to guide their way. An earthy smell enveloped them and the sweat that had broken out on Treville’s body during their headlong ride quickly cooled.</p><p>Cahusac brought up the rear, facing outward, moving backwards, as surefooted as an alley cat. Treville heard him stop to reload his pistol, recognising the sound of the wadding being tamped down over the shot. All good soldiers practised blindfolded until their fingers could fly nimbly between their ammunition pouches and their pistols without fear of a slip even in full darkness. He was quickly learning that both Jussac and Cahusac were very good soldiers.</p><p>Shouts echoed in from the entrance, making it clear that their whereabouts were known, but Treville was banking on Boucher not being in any position to send his men in after them. Not yet, anyway.</p><p>A pistol shot reverberated in the mine, followed by a cry of pain outside. One of the men out there had made the mistake of silhouetting himself against the light and had fallen victim to a well-aimed shot from Cahusac. The slide of metal on metal told him that the young man was immediately reloading.</p><p>More pistol shots followed, this time from the attackers, but they were just wasting ammunition. Athos had already led his companions around a corner where they were safe from return fire and no doubt Cahusac had taken cover behind one of the large fallen blocks in the wide passageway.</p><p>A cry of “Hold your damned fire!” told Treville that at least someone out there had a reasonable grasp of strategy.</p><p>He drew his pistol from his belt, not to shoot but to use the slow burning matchcord to light the tallow candle to which Athos was guiding his hands. A moment later, flickering yellow light illuminated a small chamber, with several passages leading off into darkness.</p><p>“Jussac, how bad’s that leg?” he demanded.</p><p>“It’ll wait until Athos has the use of both arms. See to him first.”</p><p>Treville promptly set to work removing Athos’ weapons belt and unfastening his leather doublet. Drawing it down his lover’s arms caused sweat to break out on Athos’ forehead but apart from a slight hitch in his breathing, he betrayed no other sign of pain. By removing Athos’ good arm first, he was able to get the shirt off, leaving him stripped to the waist in the cool air of the stone mine. An ugly bulge on the shoulder confirmed that the shoulder joint had been dislodged when he’d hit the ground.</p><p>Treville probed the muscles around the injury, doing his best to work some movement back into them. Like all soldiers, he’d been around field medics long enough to have learned some of their skills.</p><p>“You’re going to tell me to relax, aren’t you?” Athos said, his cultured voice holding amusement, in spite of the pain.</p><p>“Would it do any good if I did?”</p><p>“Probably not.”</p><p>Time was against them, but the injury would cause less problem if the muscles didn’t tear when he worked the joint back into place. Treville drew his fingers over his lover’s upper arm in long, smooth strokes then did the same on the corded muscles from neck to shoulder, working closer and closer to the obscene bulge.</p><p>Without needing to be asked, Jussac limped behind Athos and slipped one arm around his waist, holding him firmly. With his other hand, he gripped the muscular forearm.</p><p>“It’s fortunate we’ve been properly introduced,” Athos drawled.</p><p>Treville put both thumbs over the bulge and pressed hard saying, “Now.” As he continued to push down, Jussac drew Athos’ arm firmly across his body. The shoulder joint slid smoothly back into place. Treville continued to massage the shoulder as Athos momentarily sagged against Jussac in relief.</p><p>“My thanks, gentlemen.”</p><p>While Athos pulled his shirt and jacket back on, Treville examined the wound in Jussac’s thigh. Blood ran sluggishly from a ragged groove, a finger’s depth in the red guard’s flesh.</p><p>Jussac looked down dispassionately. “Bind it tightly.” He untied his belt and shoved down his torn breeches and undergarment to allow Treville unhindered access to his leg.</p><p>Athos handed him a bandage roll that they had stowed in the mine along with supplies of weapons, ammunition, food and water. Treville bound the linen strips tightly around Jussac’s leg. It was a flesh wound only; the muscle remained intact. Painful, but not incapacitating, proving they didn’t have to run far, as the limp would slow him down.</p><p>“Jacket and shirt off, I need to bind your arm as well otherwise you risk blood fouling your grip.”</p><p>The wound on Jussac’s arm turned out to be shallow, the blood already crusting around the wound. Treville quickly wound a bandage around the arm and pronounced himself satisfied.</p><p>“My thanks,” Jussac said quietly. “So, what now?”</p><p>“We wait,” Athos said. “My guess is that they will try to smoke us out, but time is now on our side. While they’re deciding whether to follow us in here, the others can move into position, and so can we.”</p><p>As Athos had demonstrated over the past two days, the land on this side of the Pinon estate was honeycombed with passages left behind when the building stone was removed. Quarries had operated there for several hundred years, pitting the ground with deep channels formed by the first workings before moving underground to leave a labyrinth of passages extending over a wide area. The early wealth of the la Fère family had been built on foundations of high-quality honey-coloured building stone hewn from the ground. There were multiple entrances to the underground complex several of which were obvious from the dell into which Athos had led their pursuers, but there were others on the hillside that would be less easily found.</p><p>A light footfall warned of Cahusac’s approach. “I got close enough to overhear,” he said quietly. “They’re debating what to do. A couple of hotheads want to make torches and rush us. They know we’ve taken injury.” He hesitated then added, “They say they’ve notched up a kill.”</p><p>Treville closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. “Who?”</p><p>“I heard a man called Jacques being praised for taking down someone they referred to as ‘the big bastard’. It could be Bernajoux or Porthos.”</p><p>“I’ll believe it when I see a body,” Jussac said, his tone brisk. “Neither of them is easy to kill.”</p><p>“A lucky shot can lay anyone low,” Treville said, his heart heavy at the thought that anyone might have been killed in his defence. “But like you, I’ll believe it when I see a body. Athos, we are in your hands. Do we stay here or change position?”</p><p>“If there’s a possibility that they might try to rush us, we wait here. Their torches will give away their advance and the advantage will be with us. No sane commander would risk more than a small force on a risky endeavour, but it might give us the opportunity to reduce their number even further.”</p><p>Time passed slowly in the dark or the mine. Cahusac crept back into the main passage where he could catch some of what was happening outside. His plan was to lie prone behind a pile of broken stone and wait to see if he could catch the enemy unawares if they did decide on a frontal assault. </p><p>Treville tried not to dwell on what had been overheard. He’d lost men in battle before, many times, and it never got any easier. Dwelling on the served no good purpose, though. There would be time to grieve when this was over.</p><p>He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Porthos lives,” Athos murmured, his breath warm on Treville’s ear. “I am sure of it.”</p><p>“I’m sure I’m not so easily rid of any of you,” he responded, in an attempt at lightness. </p><p>“I can see torchlight!” Jussac hissed, stepping back from his position at the corner.</p><p>Treville and Athos drew their pistols and stood in readiness, waiting for Jussac’s word. In the silence of the mine even their own breathing sounded load, but not as loud as the sudden noise of booted feet clambering over rocks.</p><p>“They’re carrying some form of shield,” Jussac warned. “Don’t waste your shot. I think they’ve woven saplings together.”</p><p>“Clever,” Athos commented. “But they’ve not had time to make much, and as long as they don’t spot Cahusac, the advantage will lie with us. Hold fire until they are very close and let them spend their shot first.” He blew out the tallow candle, plunging the chamber into total darkness.</p><p>Treville slowed his breathing, careful to make no noise in the enveloping blackness. The mercenaries were not so silent. The approaching boots were heavy on the broken floor and he could hear the occasional curse as one of the men stumbled. Soon he could see flicker of burning brands. The attackers had not had the time to fashion better torches. It was a risky move, one that he would not have countenanced, but from what he had seen, the Butcher held the lives of his men cheaply. </p><p>A pistol shot shattered the silence. One of the men screamed and pitched forward, the burning torch flying to one side. A moment later, Treville stepped out from cover, flanked by Athos and Jussac, their eyes already dark-attuned as they verified their targets before firing. Treville’s shot hit one of the improvised shields at centre mass and the man behind it staggered but did not fall. Athos aimed low, below the woven wood, hitting one man in the knee. He collapsed, screaming. Jussac’s shot also hit a shield, but what damage it did, Treville couldn’t tell.</p><p>He swept his sword from its scabbard and closed on their opponents in three long strides. Athos’ blade dispatched the man writhing on the ground clutching his leg and he wheeled to meet one of the others, steel to steel. A woven shield thrust at Treville pushed him on the backfoot for a moment them with a roar, his attacker threw the shield forward and drew a long, heavy blade. Treville sidestepped, but his foot turned on a rock and he overbalanced. As the sword flashed down, Treville rolled, scrambling to his feet, his sword raised to block the blow.</p><p>Before the sword fell, Jussac lunged at the man in a classic salon manoeuvre, rapier angled upwards so it took the man between the ribs and penetrated his heart in one smooth movement. The man died without a sound. </p><p>The clash of blade on blade told Treville that Athos had engaged the fourth man, but by now the light of the torches was guttering and dying, casting no more than treacherous shadows as the two swordsmen engaged in a grim dance of death.</p><p>“Scream, and make it sound good,” Jussac urged, at Treville’s side. “We need them to think one of us is down…”</p><p>Treville didn’t need telling twice. He let out a gurgling cry, trying to imbue it with pain and despair.</p><p>“Captain!” Jussac’s cry was equally urgent. “Athos, he’s down! Help me!”</p><p>Athos, his back to Jussac, took advantage of the distraction to circle his enemy’s blade, tossing it to one side in a movement that could only be achieved by a master swordsman with wrists of steel. One lunge was all it took to finish the man as Treville and Jussac headed back to the chamber, heaving one of the dead men between them, his booted feet dragging on the dry floor.</p><p>“Nice charade,” Athos said, following hard on their heels. “A warning next time would be helpful.”</p><p>“You were fooled?” Jussac sounded amused.</p><p>“Only for a moment. Let’s hope the ruse fares better with our friends out there.”</p><p>A musket report reverberated around the mine and chips of stone flew everywhere.</p><p>“Shooting blind,” Jussac said. The red guard captain pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. </p><p>A few moments later, Cahusac came back into the chamber, crouched over and moving backwards. “Their boss isn’t happy. I could hear him telling them to fetch something, but I’m not sure what. My guess is they won’t try that stunt again, though.</p><p>They waited in silence again, with Cahusac standing watch at the corner as Athos crept forward and relieved the dead men of what ammunition they carried. The pistols he left behind, as none of them wanted to trust their lives to a strange weapon except in the direst need. Soon the crackle of dry wood told its own tale, even without Cahusac’s soft commentary.</p><p>“Fire.”</p><p>“As I predicted, they are trying to smoke us out.” Athos sounded pleased. “Time to move while their attention is on that.” He re-lit the candle and took another three off a rock shelf, passing one to each of them. “Aramis and the others have had time to close on our position now, we should be able to rely on their backup.”</p><p>With the squat, flickering candle in hand, he led the way down a narrow passage, stacked on each side with broken stone. Ahead, a rotting timber prop was holding up an unstable-looking section of roof. They made sure not to dislodge it was they passed. </p><p>Athos had played in these mines as a boy and seemed as sure of finding his way as a cat in the dark. He had shown them this route the day before and although Treville had done his best to commit the various junctions to memory, he was very glad they still had their guide. In front of him, Jussac was limping, but still managing to stay close to Athos. The problem came a few minutes later when they had to first drop to their knees and crawl on their bellies through a jumble of fallen blocks.</p><p>Treville could feel the weight of the rock pressing on him from all sides as he wriggled through the tight space, pushing his sword and pistol ahead of him. They had taken the precaution of not reloading their weapons in the chamber in case of an accidental discharge as they traversed the most dangerous section of the mine. Apart from Athos, they had snuffed out their candles for the same reason, and were burrowing like blind moles, moving only by touch. In front of him he could hear Jussac’s laboured breathing as the red guard captain fought against the pain from his injured leg. Behind him, Cahusac seemed to flow through the rock like an eel in water. Treville envied the younger man’s supple body and seemingly boundless energy as he fought against the feeling that he was going to be pressed to death by shifting rocks in this hellhole. </p><p>In front of him, Jussac swore luridly and stopped moving, magnifying Treville’s unease. </p><p>“Take a moment,” Athos said, in a reassuring tone. “Only one more body length and we’re through.”</p><p>“I swear I’ll never look at a stone building the same way again,” Jussac said, his voice harsh with dust. “You really used to play here as a child?”</p><p>“Yes. My father thrashed me for it if he knew.”</p><p>“Wise man. I know how he feels.”</p><p>“Take heart. This is going to bring us out behind their lines. They can’t watch every one of the gullies. One more body length, I promise you.”</p><p>Jussac’s grunted reply was inaudible, but Treville strongly suspected he was questioning Athos’ parentage. In front of his, he heard the scrape of a weapons belt as the red guard captain started moving again, then it was Treville’s turn as inch by body-wrecking inch, he dragged himself forward on his elbows, shoving at the rock with his heels to gain any possible purchase. The previous day, Athos hadn’t led them through this section, saying that it was impossible to lose their way in the passage and as soon as they emerged from the low tunnel, they would see daylight. Treville now suspected he had not wanted to provoke a mutiny.</p><p>A gasp of relief told him that Jussac had started to emerge from the rat hole, then he caught a glimpse of a yellow glow ahead and took heart, dragging himself the final, tortuous body length until he was able to stand up without even having to stoop. </p><p>Behind him, Cahusac popped out, an irrepressible grin on his mud-streaked face. “You bring us to all the nicest places, musketeer.”</p><p>Athos held down his hand, pulling the young red guard to his feet. “Now we shall see if any of the others have made it to the rendezvous spot.” He turned to Treville. “Captain, remain in the mine with Jussac. I will leave you at a point where you will be able to hear what is happening in the camp. See if you can gauge their remaining strength. They won’t spot you. The exit from the mine is above them in the quarry face and it’s heavily overhung with vegetation. Cahusac and I will stay out of sight and look for the others. We’ll return when we have news.”</p><p>He led them on to a fork in the passage and indicated that they should take the left-hand way and he would take the right.</p><p>“Be careful,” Treville ordered in a low voice.</p><p>“When am I other than careful?” Athos’ well-bred drawl held all his usual self-assurance and without waiting for an answer, he moved off again.</p><p>Treville watched the candlelight fade from view then he and Jussac made their way up a sloping passage that ended in a short ascending climb. Handing his sword to Jussac, he eyed up the latest challenge. The climb looked considerably easier than the one they’d had to endure at the Chateau de la Lune, but any slip could give away their position. To his relief, it proved not to be problematic and, as Athos had said, he now had a view out over the wide dell occupied by Boucher and his men.</p><p>The mercenaries had dragged fallen wood into the mouth of the mine and had a fire blazing brightly.</p><p>“Start smothering it with leaves,” a man ordered. </p><p>The way the others jumped to obey his command, Treville presumed he was the man who had taken the assassination contract. He looked to be in his late thirties, no more than average height, with dirty blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck. The sort of man who could pass unnoticed in a crowded street or one of Paris’ less salubrious taverns. A useful trait in an assassin. </p><p>With smoke now billowing into the mine, the men stood back to admire their handiwork.</p><p>“Little bunnies won’t be liking that,” one of them laughed.</p><p>“If they’re still in there,” Boucher said. “I want men everywhere in these damned woods. There are still at least two of their marksmen out there somewhere. I want ‘em dead and I want ‘em dead fast.”</p><p>As he spoke, a yell came from the direction of the track they’d ridden along to reach the dell, followed by a cry of pain and a scuffle. </p><p>“None of that, you little fucker!” a raised voice ordered, followed by the sound of a pained grunt then an open-handed slap that ricocheted off the quarry face. “Boss, we’ve got a present for you!”</p><p>Treville drew in a silent breath, more than half expecting to see young Philippe de Beaune being dragged into view. </p><p>A heartbeat later, Athos’ carefully laid plans lay in ruins.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The unnatural silence in the tangled woodland told Athos that the area was alive with killers rather than birds. He and Cahusac made their way cautiously to the point they had agreed for their meeting with the rest of their group should the trap that he’d devised proved successful.</p><p>With most of the mercenaries occupied by an attempt to smoke them out of the mine, they now had the chance to pick off any sentries before turning their attention to Boucher and the rest of his men.</p><p>He fell quickly into a standard soldier’s tactic with Cahusac. When one of them moved, the other kept watch, loaded pistol in hand. Like that, they leapfrogged quickly through the wood, away from the main action. They saw no one. The meeting point was in what Athos had been told by one of the old quarrymen that was one of the oldest parts of the mine, where the stone was removed for the first foundations of the original manor house at Pinon in his great-grandfather’s day. Here, a series of dug chambers opened on the side of the hill overlooking the river. The workings were shallow and inaccessible from the main mine, which is why he’d rejected them as a place to make a stand, but as a spot to regroup, they would serve their purpose.</p><p>As they approached, Athos gave a low, trilling whistle. The call of a blackbird repeated three times, a signal they had developed at La Rochelle.</p><p>From the depths of the old quarry, he heard an answering call, and a second one, signalling that the area was clear.</p><p>They broke from cover and ran to the entrance. Aramis stepped out, a broad smile on his handsome face. “What kept you?”</p><p>“A small matter of assassins and other hired killers. Where are Porthos and the others?”</p><p>Aramis gestured with his hand and Athos turned to see Porthos and Philippe moving from cover on the other side of the quarry. The big musketeer had blood caking one side of his face and he moved stiffly, the tell-tale sign of damage to ribs. Philippe had blood staining his doublet sleeve on his sword arm, and he carried his pistol in his left hand. Of Gallagher and Bernajoux there was no sign.</p><p>“When we had to leave him, Bernajoux still lived, although he was unconscious,” Aramis said quickly to Cathusac. “He has a pistol ball lodged in his shoulder and he struck his head on a rock when he fell. We killed the man who shot him, but one other got away. We bandaged the wound and left him hidden in an old shooting hide. Providing he comes round, I do not think the shot will prove fatal but the ball needs to come out.”</p><p>“And Gallagher?” Athos demanded.</p><p>“We became separated. We have not seen him since.”</p><p>Athos could see the unspoken doubt in his friend’s eyes but could not bring himself to believe that the Irishman had played them false. “We have sufficient numbers to take them providing we can pick off their sentries. Once that is done, we can stop playing cat and mouse and turn to the attack.”</p><p>“Good,” Porthos growled. “Hiding ain’t to my liking. Nor is runnin’”</p><p>“Cahusac and I will return to Treville and Jussac. We attack on my signal,” Athos said. “There were still eight men in the dell, and maybe three or four in the woods. If you can take two from above, the rest should be manageable.”</p><p>“Don’t underestimate Boucher,” Aramis cautioned. “He didn’t gain a reputation as an assassin by being easy to kill.”</p><p>Athos nodded. “Philippe, remain with Porthos. That wound will hinder you.”</p><p>“I have trained with my left hand as much as my right.”</p><p>“As every good soldier should. You will make an excellent musketeer.”</p><p>The young vicomte flushed with pride at Athos’ words. </p><p>Athos and Cahusac retraced their steps to the hidden mine entrance. On the final approach, the red guardsman stopped abruptly and raised his hand in warning. Athos moved smoothly into the shadow of a gnarled old oak tree. He watched Cahusac step over something in the undergrowth then beckoned to him.</p><p>“One of their sentries is already dead,” Cahusac murmured. “His throat’s been slit.”</p><p>Athos hoped that meant Gallagher was still active in the woods.</p><p>They reached the mine exit without sight of any sentries. Treville stepped out of the shadows, his face a grim, angry mask. “They have hostages.”</p><p>The words were like a punch to the gut. This changed everything.</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“Three. A man, a woman and a young boy. They will kill them if I do not give myself up.”</p><p>“Not going to happen, captain.”</p><p>“We cannot let innocents suffer.” Treville hesitated, then added, “They have already raped the woman and beaten the boy. We had to watch and listen, Athos.” </p><p>“There was nothing the two of you could have done,” Athos said. “Are they still trying to smoke us out?”</p><p>“Yes, but they suspect we have found a way out. They seem certain we are still nearby.”</p><p>“Who are the hostages? Villagers?”</p><p>Treville shook his head. “From what we overheard, a family of travelling pedlars who were unwise enough to follow the road to the house in the hope of plying their trade. Two of Boucher’s men saw an opportunity.”</p><p>Before Athos could reply, a woman’s scream echoed around the woods, shrill and terrified. </p><p>A man’s voice cut over her cry in a parade ground shout, “Treville, give yourself up or these people die!”</p><p>Athos laid a restraining hand on his captain’s shoulder and hissed in his ear, “If you speak you will give away our position. In this labyrinth of rock, they can’t be sure where any of us are.”</p><p>The woman screamed again then started to sob. Other shouts echoed in the woods and they heard a man pleading for them to stop.</p><p>“Athos, we can’t let these people suffer. That is not what musketeers stand for.”</p><p>“Captain, no!” Athos grabbed Treville’s arm and spoke urgently. “Jussac’s ruse earlier means they already believe you to be injured. Now we need to convince them you are dead…”</p><p>“They will demand to see a body.”</p><p>“And we will give them one. We need blood. A lot of blood.”</p><p>“Fortunate there is a source nearby,” Cahusac said, grinning. “It could work. Strip your jacket off, captain, and follow me… quickly.”</p><p>“You’re mad, the pair of you,” Treville countered.</p><p>“We just need to get close to them with you. Surprise will be on our side.”</p><p>“Every weapon they possess will be trained on us.”</p><p>“We have four men in the woods. That will even the odds.”</p><p>Another cry of pain rang around the woods, this time a boy’s voice followed by his mother’s pleading and angry cries from a man’s voice.</p><p>“You’re wasting time, musketeers!” The voice was confident, tinged with amusement. </p><p>“Treville is already dead!” Athos shouted in reply.</p><p>His lover shot him a look that said there would be reckoning for that move if they lived past that day, but without further argument, he turned to follow Cahusac. Athos was damned if he was letting Treville just walk out to his death in an excess of nobility. At least his idea gave them a fighting chance.</p><p>Laughter greeted his words.</p><p>“Nice try, musketeer! Bring the body and I might believe you.”</p><p>“And get shot for our pains? I think not. You’ll find him in the mine.”</p><p>“I will count to ten and then shoot the man in the stomach. You can listen to him die. It won’t be quick and it won’t be pretty. And while he’s dying, my men will have the woman again. The boy, too. He’s pretty enough if you ignore the muck and the blood.”</p><p>Athos wheeled around at a rustle of leaves to find Jussac behind him. The red guard captain’s face was impassive, but Athos could see the anger blazing in the man’s eyes.</p><p>“Your plan is the only way,” the red guard captain said. “It stands a chance. And a chance is all we need.”</p><p>Athos nodded.</p><p>Boucher started counting. When he reached nine, Athos yelled, “Stop. We will bring Treville’s body out, but we want guarantees of safe passage for ourselves and your hostages.”</p><p>“Our contract specifies Treville only. There’s no bonus for killing more musketeers.”</p><p>“Your word on it?”</p><p>Boucher laughed. “And what reliance would you place on that?”</p><p>“Not a lot,” Athos admitted. “But there are three of us left. Two of us will bring you Treville’s body. One will keep a pistol trained on you. If you play us false, you take your chances.”</p><p>“What makes you think you’re in a position to bargain, musketeer?”</p><p>Athos wanted to respond with a tally of the men they’d killed, but that would hardly count as diplomacy. “We have something you want, but I am not prepared to throw the lives of more of our men away unnecessarily. For all I know you will kill the hostages anyway after having your fun with them.” He injected every ounce of aristocratic disdain into his voice that he could muster, throwing several generations of the nobility behind his well-bred tones.</p><p>“You have a reputation as a ruthless bastard, Athos,” Boucher called. “But I don’t believe you are that ruthless.”</p><p>“Have pity!” The woman’s plea broke on pained sob as the sound of a hard blow followed her words.</p><p>“One more word and I cut your son’s tongue out!” Boucher threatened her. “Stop playing for time, Athos. Fetch your captain’s body. While you do, my men will amuse themselves with the woman and the boy. Maybe that way, you won’t linger. Make sure you carry no weapons!”</p><p>“His body is in the mine. You can follow us if you care to.”</p><p>“That didn’t end so well last time. Make haste, musketeer…”</p><p>Athos nodded to Jussac and together they backed off, hoping that their comrades had been able to account for Boucher’s sentries. If not, they had given away their position and would soon be dead men.</p><p>“Are your missions always like this?” Jussac asked dryly.</p><p>“No, sometimes they’re dangerous,” Athos drawled. “At least if this goes wrong, I’ll be dead before Treville has chance to kill me.” </p><p>A moment, later, his breath caught in his throat as he took a step forward in the deep, overhung gully and caught sight of his captain, his face and upper body liberally covered in blood. His shirt had been ripped into makeshift bandages and was now wound around his chest. The charade of blood leaking through the wrapping looked convincing, and it was hard to see the colour of Treville’s skin through the dust, mud and blood.</p><p>“You make a convincing walking corpse,” Jussac said. “This mad plan might just stand a chance. Who carries the body and who stays behind?”</p><p>“Cahusac and I will carry him. You cover us. We will throw out our pistols and swords, but you will keep two. Make both shots count. We will have no more than boot knives. Ready?”</p><p>Raucous laughter burst out from Boucher’s men, accompanied by pained cries. They did not need telling that his threats were being carried out, but there had been no pistol shots, so the hostages might yet escape this alive.</p><p>Moments later, Treville was a dead weight between Athos and Cahusac, his head lolling back, eyes closed, as they carried him down the gully. The first person to step into the dell was Jussac, a pistol raised in each hand. Athos half-expected him to be cut down in a hail of musket fire, but all that greeted him was the pained sobs of the woman, and a soft litany of pleas falling from the lips of her husband. There was no sound from the boy. </p><p>Athos and Cahusac threw out their weapons and took up Treville’s weight between them. Athos’ torn shoulder muscles protested the strain, and when he stumbled on a loose stone, Treville’s head scraped on the ground. Sparing him only the briefest of glances, Athos had to agree that Jussac was right, his captain did make a very convincing corpse, then he was busy scanning the open area before the mine entrance for the position of Boucher and his men.</p><p>The man Athos presumed was Boucher was standing in the middle of the open area, a pistol in each hand. His men were ranged about the quarry, all with firearms in hand. Without aid from Aramis, Porthos, Gallagher and Philippe, they were facing a massacre.</p><p>The woman was sprawled on the floor at the feet of a man who was retying his breeches. Her husband was kneeling on the ground, his head bowed, hands roped behind his back. The boy lay motionless beside a stone block.</p><p>“That’s far enough, musketeer. Drop the body and move back.” A smile spread across the assassin’s unremarkable face. “A bonus for the man who fired the lucky shot. But let’s just be sure, shall we?” </p><p>He lowered the muzzle of his weapon in his left hand and pulled the trigger. Treville was already rolling away; the first shot missed him by only a hands’ breadth.</p><p>In the same heartbeat, a volley of shots erupted from all around the quarry as Treville came up in a fast crouch, diving at Boucher rather than away from him. As ever in combat, time seemed to slow to a crawl as Athos grabbed the dagger from his boot and hurled it at Boucher. The blade took him in the left shoulder, throwing off his aim and the second pistol shot went wide, but with an almost inhuman turn of speed, the man kicked out at Treville as he swept his sword from its sheath, striking down with a vicious blow that Treville barely avoided.</p><p>“Athos!” Cahusac’s shout drew his attention and he turned in time to catch a rapier in his gloved hand.</p><p>He had no idea how many of Boucher’s men were down, as the fight had now turned into a close-quarter battle with no ground being given on either side. He met Boucher in a clash of steel as around them the quarry still echoed to the sound of pistol shots but soon every weapon had been discharged and there was no time to reload. Pistols served now as clubs. He had no idea how many of the mercenaries had fallen and there was no time to gauge the success of their surprise offensive as he was already hard pressed by Boucher’s blade.</p><p>The man was good. Athos had known that from the first moment their blades touched. His style verged on the flamboyant, yet he left no openings that could be exploited. Athos was hampered by not having a dagger in his left hand and he had no opportunity to reach down for his second boot knife. Boucher’s strikes were fast and hard. He changed from low to high line with impressive speed and lunged for Athos’ throat in a move that was very nearly Athos’ undoing. He parried a fraction late and the blade left a thin red line on his neck. </p><p>Boucher’s lunge carried him forward and for a moment their bodies were locked together as the assassin fought to bring his dagger into play. For a man who still had a knife sticking out of his shoulder, it was a brave move. Athos pressed against him, knocking the hilt of the blade and grinding it further into the Butcher’s flesh and bone. The man let out a roar of pain and rage and shoved Athos away. </p><p>A musket barked from somewhere overhead. Boucher staggered and blood and bone sprayed out of his chest, splattering Athos’ face. As he crumpled to the ground, Athos looked up to see Gallagher reloading his weapon in a firing position at the top of a rock overhang. The Irishman tipped his hat to Athos as he finished ramming home a ball and wadding, searching immediately for another target.</p><p>Athos saluted Gallagher with his sword then stared down at the assassin. Boucher had dropped his sword and was clutching his chest, a surprised expression on his face. Without hesitation, Athos drove his sword through Boucher’s heart, watching as the light went out in the eyes of the man who had taken a contract to kill Treville, the man Athos valued even above his own life.</p><p>Smoke from the fire in the mine entrance had drifted across the dell, and the air was acrid with the smell of smouldering leaves mixed with the all too familiar smell of black powder from the pistol shots. Porthos was now in the thick of the fight, fighting bare-handed against one of Boucher’s men. The big musketeer grappled with his opponent and drove him back onto the smouldering fire, sweeping his legs out from under him.</p><p>Philippe de Beaune was giving a good account of himself, fighting left-handed against a short, thick-set man wielding a rapier with grim determination. What the man lacked in style, he made up for in brutal power. Abruptly, he broke Philippe’s guard, forcing the young man to throw himself sideways to avoid the sharp steel. Before Athos had time to time to take his place, Cahusac leaped forward to put himself between the young noble and the mercenary. The red guard fought with an impressive economy of style and before his opponent had realised the danger he was in, Cahusac had feinted to the right, drawing the other blade out of line, before lunging forward, burying his sword hilt-deep in the man’s chest.</p><p>“Flashy bastard,” growled Porthos approvingly.</p><p>“So you said before.”</p><p>“They’re all down!” Gallagher called from his vantage point.</p><p>Cahusac saluted them both with his sword.</p><p>Athos cast his eyes around the quarry floor, desperately seeking sight of his commanding officer. Treville was standing over the body of one of Boucher’s men, the hostages behind him crouched in a ragged huddle. The blood-soaked bandages had slipped down to reveal a long red scrape on his right side but beyond that, he appeared unharmed. Their eyes met across the smoke and Treville smiled grimly, nodding his thanks.</p><p>Athos swayed, giving in for a moment to the excruciating pain in his shoulder and left arm, feeling the combat high still thrumming in his body.</p><p>“It seems your plan was not so mad, after all,” Jussac commented. “For the record, I made both my shots count.”</p><p>Athos smiled through the pain. “I never doubted you for an instant.”</p><p>Treville made his way over to them, his sword bloody in his hand. “That has to rank as one of your more outrageous schemes.”</p><p>“Fortunate you moved when you did,” Athos said wryly.</p><p>“Fortunate the Butcher signalled his intentions.” </p><p>“If you’re going to kill, then kill, don’t talk,” Aramis said, slithering down a slope onto the quarry floor, repeating a mantra they always drilled into the cadets.</p><p>“You took out their sentries without a problem?” Athos asked.</p><p>Aramis grinned. “We had help.” He nodded towards the top of the slope.</p><p>Athos looked up and recognised two men from the village, Felix and Gaston, both grey-bearded veterans of the King’s wars in the Spanish Lowlands.</p><p>“They heard the musket fire and came to investigate. Gallagher heard them talking and realised they were not with the Butcher. The three of them did our work for us before we even got here.”</p><p>“My thanks!” Athos called.</p><p>“They’re all dead,” Cahusac reported. “The hostages are alive.” He wiped his sword on a handful of leaves and sheathed it.</p><p>“We need to get back to Bernajoux,” Aramis said. “Everyone else’s injuries can wait. We can fashion a stretcher at the house.”</p><p>Athos nodded. He turned to the former hostages. The man’s bonds had been cut and he was standing now, supporting his wife. “I’m sorry you were caught up in this. We will tend your wounds back at the house. Can you walk, madame?”</p><p>The woman nodded, her eyes still wide and afraid. The young boy, no older than his early teens stood by her, protectively, one arm clasped across his chest where he’d no doubt taken some kicks from his captors. Gallagher had been right about the Butcher’s disregard for women and children.</p><p>Treville looked dispassionately at the bodies of the men who had been sent to kill him. “The dead can wait, as well.”</p><p>Helping each other where needed, they emerged from the labyrinth of old quarry workings and followed the haulage way back towards the house. The two village men left them at the edge of the woods, promising to fetch food and more bandages for the wounded. The afternoon sun was waning as they crossed the meadow in silence, the exhilaration of the fight fast fading to a bone-sapping weariness for them all. </p><p>Two of the loose horses, cropping the sweet grass, came at a whistle. Treville ordered Jussac, now limping heavily, to take one, and the woman and her son they loaded onto another. The small family stayed close together, the woman wept silently, tears furrowing the dirt on her face. Her husband murmured soft words to her, but they seemed to bring no comfort. They were lucky to have survived the attentions of the Butcher and his men, but it would no doubt be a while before that sunk in.</p><p>By the time they reached the courtyard, Athos’ shoulder was aching as if kicked by a particularly bad-tempered mule and every movement of his arm sent sharp flares of pain from fingertips to neck. </p><p>“There are poles in the barn that will serve for a stretcher!” Aramis called, and with Cahusac at his side, he quickly fashioned a serviceable stretcher from two long poles and cloaks from their saddlebags.</p><p>“You two ‘ave barely got two good arms between you,” Porthos declared, looking at Athos and Philippe. “Stay with the captain and we’ll fetch Bernajoux back. Don’t think any of the buggers got away, but ain’t no point takin’ chances.”</p><p>“Jussac, if your leg will bear it, ride with them,” Athos said. “As Porthos says, no point in taking chances.”</p><p>The red guard captain nodded, clearly as anxious as Cahusac to find out if Bernajoux still lived.</p><p>While Treville was hauling water from the well, Phillipe went inside to light the fire and put water on to boil for cleansing their numerous injuries and Athos went in search of material to rip for bandages. A chest in one of the storerooms contained some old worn linen sheets that would do well for that purpose. He also cleared the kitchen table in readiness for a hopefully still living patient.</p><p>In the courtyard, the pedlar boy was helping Treville wash the dead mercenary’s blood from his body. Athos smiled wearily, simply glad that his mad, desperate plan had worked. The cut to Treville’s side would need to be cleaned and dressed, but it was not deep. He could attend to that before consigning his arm to a sling.</p><p>Hearing Athos’ boots on the cobbles, Treville turned, a smile on his face that died abruptly as a thin black bolt embedded itself in his back. Shock hit Athos with the force of a kick to the guts even as his eyes swept the courtyard for the assassin, training overriding shock in a heartbeat as Treville staggered and fell.</p><p>By the barn, the pedlar was reloading a small but deadly crossbow. Athos reached behind his back for his pistol, yelling loudly in the hope of distracting the man and alerting Philippe to treachery. The would-be killer swung his weapon up and fired as Athos jumped back. The bolt embedded itself in the doorframe. The assassin was already moving, dodgy nimbly. </p><p>The powder took a heartbeat too long to ignite and Athos’ shot went wide. </p><p>He cursed and drew his sword, intending to get to the man before he could reload, but instead, the would-be killer casually tossed the crossbow to the woman as the boy snatched up Treville’s sword and threw it hilt first through the air. The assassin caught it, his hand sliding into the hilt-guard in a movement redolent of long practice. The sick realisation came Athos that they had been played for fools. The pedlars had never been hostages and the man he had killed in the quarry had not been Boucher. The assassin was not one man, but three people.</p><p>The pistol shot and the yell brought Philippe of the door at a run, sword in hand.</p><p>“Deal with the boy and the woman if you can!” Athos ordered. “Protect the captain.”</p><p>Boucher met him, steel on steel, an amused look on his face. “You cost me thirty men, but at least I won’t have to pay them.”</p><p>Athos said nothing. He used words in a fight only as another weapon, to force an opponent into an error. A professional assassin would not easily be goaded. He needed to finish this fight, and he needed to finish it fast. With Treville down, he and Philippe were facing three killers, and he had no doubt that the woman and the boy were skilled at their work. The rape in the quarry had been no more than a clever pretence. The charade had been even more elaborate even than the one Athos had devised. The mercenaries were nothing more than decoys, fighting for the promise of a large purse, no doubt, but ultimately expendable.</p><p>“Only one good arm,” Boucher taunted. “You stand no chance, musketeer.”</p><p>Athos ignored both the pain and the temptation to tell the man to go fuck himself. Instead, he gave ground fast, maintaining his guard in a manoeuvre he’d practised until it was second nature to attack while seemingly in retreat. A wary look came into his opponent’s eyes but if he wanted to maintain contact, he had to follow. The man was a superb swordsman, far superior to his decoy in the quarry. Athos could feel the strength in the man’s wrist and his almost casual mastery over the blade. Fresh and uninjured he might have been able to take him; now, with his reactions dulled by pain and the soul-sapping post-combat ebb of energy, he knew he was fighting for his life, as well as for Treville’s.</p><p>The man’s gaze didn’t waver from Athos’ face and the deadly dance their swords were weaving in the air continued unabated.</p><p>A crossbow bolt ricocheted off the stone surround of the well and skittered harmlessly on the cobbles.</p><p>A gurgling gasp from behind him forced Athos to break his silence. “Philippe?”</p><p>“The… boy’s… dead,” the young vicomte panted, revulsion at what he’d had to do making him stutter the words.</p><p>Anger blazed in Boucher’s eyes and his blade flashed dangerously close to Athos’ chest, turned only by a parry that took all the strength he could muster.</p><p>“Musketeer, down!” The voice was Gallagher’s, coming from behind him.</p><p>Athos dropped to the cobbles as the Irishman fired twice. One shot took Boucher in the throat, the other hit him full in the chest. He staggered back, a look of surprise on his face as he died, crumpling to the ground in an ungainly heap.</p><p>Athos came to his knees in time to see Jussac limping towards the woman, his pistol pointing at the cobbles. “You’re safe now, you can drop the weapon,” he said, in a reassuring tone.</p><p>“She’s one of them!” Phillipe yelled.</p><p>The woman and the Red Guard captain swung their weapons up at the same time, but Jussac was a heartbeat faster and fired his weapon without hesitation. The woman’s face exploded in a red ruin. Her finger spasmed on the trigger. The bolt flew high and wide.</p><p>“You don’t fuck around,” Gallagher commented dryly.</p><p>“Without the vicomte’s warning, I’d be dead.” Jussac nodded his thanks to Philippe.</p><p>“That’s twice you’ve saved my life,” Athos said to the mercenary, clasping his hand in gratitude before dropping to his knees besides Treville.</p><p>“I like to pay my debts, musketeer.” </p><p>“We are in your debt now.” Treville’s voice rasped in his throat and his breathing was fast and shallow, his face pallid. </p><p>“Stay still,” Athos instructed urgently.</p><p>The thin bolt was protruding a finger’s length from Treville’s back. It had struck behind his shoulder, penetrating the flesh at an angle. If Treville hadn’t turned when he did, the bolt would have punched straight through his back into his heart or a lung.</p><p>“Find one of the bolts,” Gallagher said. “We need to know what we’re dealing with. That’s a custom-made assassin’s weapon. The tip is probably barbed.”</p><p>Philippe quickly grabbed the one that had buried itself in the door jamb. “Barbed,” he confirmed, handing it to Gallagher.</p><p>“Athos,” Treville groaned. “I…”</p><p>Athos cupped his face with one hand, supporting his weight with his good arm. “Don’t talk, just stay with me…” As Treville’s eyelids started to flicker and close, Athos stroked his lover’s cheek through the close-cropped beard. “Jean, don’t you fucking dare die on me!”</p><p>Treville’s lips quirked into a slight smile as he whispered, “I’ll try not to.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is not going to be easy,” Aramis said, turning the barbed bolt over in his hands while staring at the shaft protruding from Treville’s back. “And I need to get that musket ball out of Bernajoux’s shoulder as well.”</p><p>They had laid out the big Red Guard on the bed and Jussac and Cahusac were at their comrade’s side. He’d regained consciousness by the time they’d got back to him but his speech was slurred and his vision was blurred from the blow on the head.</p><p>“I’ve some skill with a needle at need,” Gallagher said. “But that bolt needs to come out quickly. He held out another one he’d retrieved from the courtyard. “The tip’s been smeared with shit.”</p><p>“Dear God,” Aramis breathed.</p><p>“Old trick,” Treville rasped. They had laid him face down on the kitchen table, a pillow under his head. “The defenders used it against us at Montauban. The wounds always festered. Just rip the fucking thing out and have done with it.”</p><p>“If we do, you might never use your sword arm again,” Aramis said.</p><p>“There must be another way,” Athos hissed, his hand resting protectively on Treville’s back.</p><p>“Get me my instruments.”</p><p>While Aramis poured over the leather roll containing the medical instruments he’d amassed over the years, Athos instructed Philippe to pour brandy from the bottle warming by the fire. Together, they raised Treville up enough for him to drink from a glass.</p><p>“Finish it,” Athos instructed.</p><p>“You never give me brandy,” Porthos said, running his chin in memory of the time Athos had knocked him out when he’d had to be sewn up during his first time at Pinon.</p><p>“Waste of good brandy,” Athos said, gently wiping Treville’s lips and holding the glass out for a refill. </p><p>“You never give me bad brandy, either.”</p><p>While Aramis immersed each of his metal probes and knives in boiling water as Doctor Lemay always did, Gallagher gently probed the flesh above the bolt. A sharp indrawn breath from Treville greeted his actions.</p><p>“The bolt is not buried too deep,” he declared. “One long cut might be enough to expose it.”</p><p>Aramis joined him in a careful inspection. “If we do it that way, is your needlework good enough to close the wound while I attend to Bernajoux?”</p><p>Gallagher nodded. “There is something else …”</p><p>“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Treville rasped.</p><p>“Probably not,” the Irishman acknowledged. “When I was in the military, I watched our regiment’s sawbones work once on a dirty arrowhead. He flushed the wound with alcohol then seared it with a hot blade before closing it up. He lived.”</p><p>Athos tossed half of the brandy down his own throat, glad of the fiery trail it burnt down his gullet and held the rest out to Treville who drank it with a grateful look.</p><p>“Who lived? The sawbones or his patient?” Aramis asked dryly.</p><p>“Both.”</p><p>“Comforting,” Athos said. “More brandy, I think.”</p><p>“You both need it,” Aramis said. “I’ll get to your arm as soon as I can.”</p><p>“There are far higher priorities. Brandy will suffice.” Once again, he downed half the glass in one long swallow, then helped Treville to drink the rest.</p><p>“Porthos, hold the captain steady. Gallagher, as I cut down, swab away the blood so I can see to work.”</p><p>As his friend reached for a thin, sharp blade, Athos moved to the head of the table and wordlessly held his hand out for Treville to grip. The captain’s right arm was positioned by his side, his fist clenched tight against the expected pain. </p><p>“Try not to break my fingers,” Athos said mildly.</p><p>“You’re a swordsman, not a musician. I’d have to… use a hammer… to break them.” Treville’s words caught in his throat as Aramis pushed the blade into his flesh at the point where the crossbow bolt had entered his body. He drew it quickly in a straight line, cutting down, his hand not wavering at all.</p><p>Treville’s face creased in pain and every muscle in his body tensed as his fingers tightened on Athos’ hand in an iron grip. He made no sound.</p><p>Athos was surprised by how little blood there was as Aramis cut deeper to reach the barbed point. The bruising grip on his hand didn’t lessen and he embraced in the pain from his shoulder as he used his other hand to brush Treville’s sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead.</p><p>“Hold the cut apart,” Aramis instructed. “I need to tease the point out without causing more damage. Philippe, heat one of the other blades in the fire until it glows red and have that brandy bottle ready.”</p><p>Athos tightened his grip on Treville’s hand. “You don’t have to endure this in silence.”</p><p>“I… won’t.”</p><p>Athos fought hard against the urge to vomit as Gallagher calmly put both hands on Treville’s bloodstained shoulder and pulled the flesh apart to expose the black line of the bolt nestling between red flesh. Aramis took hold of the bolt and started to lift it.</p><p>Treville screamed.</p><p>Aramis’ hands did not falter. With his right hand he cut down further, around the head of the bolt, before lifting it free of Treville’s body and dropping it on the floor. Blood welled up.</p><p>“Leave it,” he told Gallagher. “Keep the cut open.” He took the brandy bottle from Philippe and used the spirit to flush the blood from the wound.</p><p>Treville’s cry made Athos’ stomach want to crawl out of his mouth. He swallowed hard and carried on stroking Treville’s hair, not knowing what other comfort he could offer. Once, at La Rochelle, Aramis had burrowed into Athos’ flesh with a fair of long tweezers to remove a musket ball. The pain still returned sometimes in alcohol fuelled dreams.</p><p>More brandy followed then when Gallagher nodded, Aramis called for the hot knife. Athos tried to tear his eyes away from the procedure but couldn’t. Philippe handed over the blade, its handle wrapped with a wet cloth. Aramis dug it into the wound where the barbed point had been buried. The smell of seared flesh made Athos gag but, somehow, he held onto the contents of his stomach.</p><p>Without a sound, Treville lost consciousness.</p><p>“Thank God,” Aramis breathed. “I though he was never going to pass out.” He finished the grim business with the hot knife then passed it back to Philippe. “Boil both blades then heat one again. I might need it on Bernajoux. Gallagher, can you take over?”</p><p>The Irishman nodded, taking his hands off Treville’s back and reaching for a curved needle, trailing thread.</p><p>“Do you need me there?” Porthos asked, gesturing to the sleeping quarters. The big musketeer looked as sick as Athos felt. He loved Treville like a father and Pothos’ gruff exterior belied a soft heart.</p><p>“I’ll call if I do. The captain might waken while Gallagher is still sewing so stay here for now.”</p><p>Treville did stir, but his grip on Athos’ hand was weaker, and his eyes stayed closed, screwing tighter each time the needle pierced his flesh. Athos continued to stroke his hair, murmuring what words of comfort he could offer, assuring his lover that it was nearly over. Treville squeezed his hand but did not try to speak.</p><p>Gallagher worked quickly and neatly, his hands steady. As he tied off the final stitch and cut the thread, he said softly, “It’s done.”</p><p>The grip on Athos’ hand slacked and for a moment he thought Treville had lost consciousness again, then his lover’s fingers flexed in his. “Knew I wasn’t going to like it,” he said, his voice rough with pain.</p><p>“A moment, if you please,” Athos said, slipping his fingers out of the weak grasp.</p><p>He walked hurriedly to the door and crossed the courtyard with long strides. He reached the corner of the kitchen garden before bending over and spewing his guts into the long grass, the brandy burning on the way up as it had done on the way down. Leaning on the wall, he dashed his hand across his mouth and gulped air like a stranded fish. A second wave of nausea hit him like a fist to the guts and he threw up again, heaving and heaving until there was nothing left to bring up. As he gasped and spat, he felt a steadying hand on his back.</p><p>“Swill your mouth with this and drink the rest,” Gallagher ordered, pressing a thick pottery mug into his hands.</p><p>Keeping his eyes closed, Athos did as he’d been told. Gallagher had mixed a hefty slug of brandy with hot water and honey and it tasted good.</p><p>“Thank you. I am heavily in your debt.”</p><p>Gallagher laughed. “Much as I would have liked to see you finish both fights, time wasn’t on our side.”</p><p>“I could have taken the man in the quarry, but if you had arrived ten heartbeats later, the Butcher would have spitted me.”</p><p>“You underestimate yourself, musketeer. But it’s fortunate we heard the shots and that we had the horse.”</p><p>“The debt still stands. I will repay it at a time of your choosing.” Athos let his head fall back against the wall and took another long swallow of the hot honeyed brandy, clenching his hands around the mug as he started to shiver in reaction.</p><p>Gallagher’s hand settled on his good shoulder. “Finish that and I’ll do what I can for your pain once we’ve got your captain settled.”</p><p>As they approached the servants’ quarters, a loud roar announced that Bernajoux still alive.</p><p>“Sounds like someone’s poleaxing an ox,” Gallagher commented. </p><p>“Let’s hope for his sake he has the constitution of one.”</p><p>Philippe had already busied himself laying blankets on the rug and between the three of them, they manoeuvred Treville first into a sitting position so that they could bandage the wound, as well as cleaning and wrapping the long scrape on his side, before moving him as gently as they could onto his stomach in front of the fire where the warmth would help stop the inevitable shivering brought on by the shock of the brutal but necessary procedure.</p><p>“Get that jacket off while you can still move your arm,” Gallagher told Athos. “Philippe, I need to clean and bind the wound on your arm.</p><p>Athos shrugged off the leather jacket, filthy with the dirt of the mine and soiled with blood. He sat next to Treville by the fire leaning back against one of the carved chairs as he gave into exhaustion and dozed, one hand resting on Treville’s uninjured shoulder, comforted by the slow rise and fall of his lover’s breathing.</p><p>The pained gasps from Bernajoux stated to subside and eventually he heard Aramis pronounce himself satisfied with his patient and announce that it was now Jussac’s turn to enjoy his tender ministrations. The red guard captain responded laconically that he had been looking forward to it.</p><p>“Sit up, musketeer,” Gallagher instructed. “It’s your turn now, I’ll work on that shoulder. It’s not been a good day for shoulders.”</p><p>Athos rested against Gallagher’s knees as the mercenary probed the injury with strong fingers then started to work on muscles that had long since contracted in painful spasm. Athos was glad of the brandy now fogging his brain and it wasn’t long before pain and pleasure blurred into one seamless golden-tinged whole where he was no longer sure where one ended and the other began. </p><p>Of the nine defenders of Pinon, only Gallagher, Aramis and Cahusac had emerged unscathed. Between them, with aid from the two former soldiers, they had taken down thirty mercenaries and three assassins. Bodies were strewn around the courtyard and littered across the estate, but as Treville had said. they would wait.</p><p>When Gallagher pronounced he’d done as much as he could and the arm now needed a sling, Athos stretched like a fireside cat, wanting nothing more than to lie beside his lover and sleep for a week, but the sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard brought them both to their feet, reaching for weapons.</p><p>“Friends!” Philippe called from the doorway.</p><p>“Good,” Aramis said, appearing from the doorway of the sleeping quarters. “We’re in no fit state for a fight.”</p><p>“Speak for yourself, old man,” Cahusac said cheerfully, slapping Aramis on the back.</p><p>Aramis rolled his eyes. “I preferred it when we spent the evenings kicking your sorry arse from one side of the Wren to the other.”</p><p>“Normal hostilities can resume on our return to Paris, gentleman,” said Athos, but in truth he knew that after the past few days, relations between the King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Red Guard had undergone a change that none of them could have predicted.</p><p>In the courtyard, Felix dismounted a strong bay stallion that Athos recognised immediately as Porthos’ mount. Behind him, on a long rein were a string of horses, some he recognised, others he didn’t. </p><p>“There are more with Gaston,” he called. “And Jacques is bringing a cart from the village with supplies.” His eyes fell on the three dead bodies that had been hauled to one side of the yard and widened in shock.</p><p>“They were the assassins,” Athos told him. “The rest were just the hired help.”</p><p>“Mother of God.” Felix crossed himself. “Did they succeed…?”</p><p>Athos shook his head. </p><p>“We will remove these bodies and gather up the others,” Felix promised.</p><p>“Thank you. Take what you want of their weapons and any coin you find.”</p><p>Felix’s eyes widened. “That’ll be quite a haul, Monsieur le Comte.”</p><p>“It’ll be some recompense for the supplies and a hole big enough for thirty-three bodies.”</p><p>“No need for a hole. One of the old workings around the far side of the hill is very unstable. It won’t take much to bring the roof down. It’ll be a better grave than they deserve.”</p><p>Felix was right. It was fitting, as well as being a lot easier. “Let the animals loose in the walled garden. Did you come across a lame horse?”</p><p>“Your black?”</p><p>Athos nodded, tensing against an answer he might not want to hear.</p><p>“Took a nasty knock on his leg that’ll need a mash poultice and a few days’ rest, but he’ll be fine.”</p><p>A horse whickered softly. Athos looked around to see his own mount limping into the courtyard. Roger was only able to put weight on the damaged leg hesitantly, but other than that he was unharmed. The horse nudged at Athos with his soft nose, snuffling at his hair.</p><p>“True love,” Aramis laughed. “He’s an ill-tempered nag, much like his master, but I’m glad you’re reunited.”</p><p>“You’ll hurt his feelings. He’s a sensitive creature.” He rubbed Roger’s ears. “Don’t listen to him.”</p><p>Another string of horses filed in behind Gaston, then shortly after, they were followed by the monosyllabic village lad and his cart, with a pack mule tied to the back.</p><p>“’s Colporteur’s mule, m’sieur,” the lad mumbled. “’ee was by the gates. Took a look but couldn’t find ‘im or ‘is wife.”</p><p>Felix cast a glance at the dead assassins and swore under his breath. “We’ll search the woods.”</p><p>Athos knew they wouldn’t find the man or his wife alive. The Butcher had no doubt lived up to his – their – name. He rested his head wearily on his horse’s neck. </p><p>“The pedlars are the last victims they will claim,” Aramis said softly. “Go inside and get some sleep. Be there when the captain wakes up. I’ll tend your horse.” When Athos hesitated, Aramis murmured for his ears only, “Sometimes even you need to give in, my friend. The captain is safe, providing the wound does not fester all will be well.”</p><p>Athos nodded, too tired to keep up any pretence.</p><p>Treville was sleeping soundly, the rise and fall of his chest steady. Athos wrapped himself in his cloak, despite the warmth of the room, and lay down at his captain’s side. Within moments, exhaustion claimed him.</p><p>**** </p><p>The wound did not fester.</p><p>Treville was on his feet the following morning, weak as a kitten, but alive.</p><p>Bernajoux, displaying an enviable ability to shrug off injuries that would have killed a man with a thinner skull and a less robust constitution, was walking the same day as well,  declaring stubbornly that he would not be carried anywhere in a cart.</p><p>Cahusac and Phillipe de Beaune returned to Paris with news for d’Artagnan and the king that the assassins were dead while the rest of the company remained at Pinon until Aramis pronounced them fit to ride.</p><p>On their final night at Pinon, Athos chose a bottle of his father’s finest wine from the cellar and walked through the kitchen, casting an inviting glance at Treville as he passed the table where Gallagher was patiently teaching Porthos what he claimed was an undetectable way of concealing cards when cheating.</p><p>Moonlight cast pale shadows as Athos made his way into the walled garden to sit on an old stone bench against on wall, stretching out his legs and taking a long drink from the neck of the wine bottle. </p><p>“Wine tastes better from a glass,” Treville remarked, sitting down next to him, and holding out one to be filled.</p><p>“This wine would taste good from Porthos’ boot.”</p><p>They sat in companionable silence, drinking from the same glass.</p><p>Secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t be observed. Athos pressed a light kiss to Treville’s cheek, enjoying the scratch of his beard against his lips.</p><p>“I thought I was going to lose you,” he said softly.</p><p>Treville turned and captured his lips in a gentle kiss. “I knew it was bad when you called me Jean.”</p><p>Athos smiled. “Maybe if I did that more often it would be less concerning.”</p><p>“I would like that.”</p><p>“I have reached a decision,” Athos said, slowly. “I have known both peace and joy again in a way that once I’d thought of as impossible. The house deserves to be restored and I have the funds to make it happen.</p><p>“Will you resign your commission and live the life of a country noble again?” Treville’s voice was studiously neutral, but his fingers sought Athos’ hand.</p><p>“You will not leave the king’s side and I will not leave yours, provided that is where you want me to stay.”</p><p>Treville brought Athos’s fingers to his lips. “More than I can possibly say.”</p><p>And then there were no more words, only soft lips and gentle hands.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>